Twins of Destiny
by Mox Jet
Summary: On the backwater planet of Celes, two men separated by half a world may hold the key to a planet's history, but why can't Elosia's Epitorum see through the veil that clouds this planet? Find out in Twins of Destiny, the sequel to The Planeswalkers!
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

The sleek form of the LEA Flagship Weatherlight rocketed through the pristine vacuum of space, jumping from a Planeshift that had brought it to its current quadrant of the Galaxy. They had been through here before, but as Lavoid sightings were minimal, and the threat of hive presence practically non-existent, the LEA had never really given the area a second thought. 

This time through was different, however, as the tinted view ports of the stark white ship reflected the image of a planet beneath them. Something here had attracted the attention of long range scanners that they had placed here when the ship Crusader had passed through not more than two months ago. Nothing had been picked up in all of that time, but somehow, a Lavoid must have suddenly made its presence known. 

On the bridge of the ship, also colored white save for the computer displays and occasional black and steel paneling, a blip was being picked up from one of the scanning systems. Noting the sudden incursion of a signal, one of the crewman manning the forward radio station raised his voice over the silence of the bridge to let the situation be known. 

"Commander," he said, some hint on confusion in his voice. "We have a peculiar situation on this planet here." 

From the elevated command riser, a young man rose out of the seat designated for the Captain of the ship, who also happened to be the High Commander of the entire LEA. He was clad in a relatively elaborate uniform, consisting of white trousers with two streaks of blue running up each side, a white and gold vest worn under a long white coat with blue adornments on the shoulders and complicated gold and blue embroideries throughout. It was the uniform of a LEA officer. 

This officer was different though. If the gold strips on his jacket, signifying his high rank, didn't give it away, the portion of him that wasn't concealed by clothing certainly did. His face was very soft, though somewhat pale, marred only by a scar that ran down one of his cheeks. He gazed over at the crewman one of his most haunting features, eyes in a deep shade of amethyst that seemed to carry the weight of the entire world. And then there was his most notable feature. Crowning the top of his head in series of spikes, his long hair hung down to his waist, tied in a pony tail. It was dark blue, with occasional streaks of a lighter blue highlight. Such hair could only belong to one person: Lathain of Zeal, more commonly known as Jack McKlane. 

"What's the problem," Jack asked looking down from his vantage point trying to see what was on the screen in front of the crewman. 

"Sir, we've got a Lavoid ping," he started to say, but trailed off momentarily. "But, we're picking up evidence of multiple Lavoid Energy based creatures. In fact…we're picking up a whole crap load." 

"And how much is a crap load?" Jack asked, not sure if he should be interested yet. After all, they found Lavoids in planets all the time. This one shouldn't be different. 

"Well, in addition to the main blip," the man said. "We have at least three more very strong blips that, while not matching an actual Lavoid, they match…well, they match your own Lavoid Energy emission rate, sir." Jack didn't respond for a moment. 

"Is there a possibility that there is a large number of even smaller blips? Perhaps a series of blips spanning an entire country or land mass?" he asked hesitantly 

"That's the other odd part, sir," the crewman said. "That's exactly what's going on. Here," he pointed to his screen. Jack quickly jumped off of the command platform and lightly floated over to the computer screen. "There looks to be some sort of massed use of Lavoid energy here. All of the people are permeating with it." 

"Like Zeal…" he muttered, crossing his arms. He looked over across the bridge. "What information do we have on this planet from the Dominion records we accessed from that freighter off of Halverac VI?" he asked anyone that might know. Someone on the other side of the room spoke up. 

"It's technically been claimed by the Dominion," the voice said. "But they don't fully acknowledge Dominion rule. The name of the planet is Celes. It's medium sized and the fourth planet from the yellow star known as Faro." 

"We know that much," Jack said. "Give me readouts on political structure." 

"Yes sir," the voice said, typing at the computer for a few moments until the information came up. "The planet is divided into three countries. The first two, Lyons and Denegrad are in, and have been in, a state of war for some time. The third country, Ithilmar, is actually made up of a series of aerial cities. According to the readout on the Lavoid Energy Readings, if appears that it is this country that is covered in it." 

"And I'll bet my life I know how they got up in the air in the first place…" Jack mumbled. "And what about those other blips of strong Lavoid Energy." 

"The emission rate is about the same as yours, sir. That would mean that their natural intake and release of Lavoid Energy matches that of a…" 

"Of a what?" 

"Of a potential Planeswalker, sir." 

"Well I'll be…" Jack said, stepping back a moment and leaning against the railing that wrapped around the elevated command platform. Closing his eyes for a moment, he quickly touched a finger to his ear, activating his communication device. "Bridge to Colonel Tenser," he said. Sound soon poured back into his earpiece 

"This is Tristan," the voice said. "Whaddaya want, Jack?" 

"Just get up here quick, Tristan," Jack said. "We have…a situation." 

"I'll be right there." The communication ended and Jack slowly walked back up to his chair and sat down in it. Moments later, a man walked into the bridge. Not clad in the standard LEA uniform that the rest of the crew of the bridge wore, this man seemed like he had dressed much more according to his own standards. A pair of black pants, a black turtleneck shirt and a black leather trench coat made up his attire. His messy blond hair tied into a tight pony tail that went halfway down his back also added to his 'personalized' look. 

"What's the deal?" Tristan Tenser asked, walking up to the blue haired man. "Besides another Lavoid, of course." Jack sighed. 

"We've got Potentials, Tristan," Jack said. "Or at least, it looks like that." 

"Others…like you?" Tristan asked. 

"Yeah. They're energy gives off that same Lavoid Permeated signature that I do. Meaning, it wouldn't be out of the question that they were born from the Lavoid that's infested this planet." 

"How strong is the Lavoid?" Tristan asked. 

"It looks…like a Class B," Jack said, leaning his head back. "From the readouts, it's about 130 times stronger than Lavos was. It's one nasty mother." 

"So wouldn't it be odd that the vessel at the time of the supposed Planeswalkers' births would be even able to withstand the power?" 

"Maybe the power was split up," Jack mused. "There are multiples. Perhaps there were twins, or something like that. The question would be why, though." 

"Why create a Planeswalker?" Tristan asked. "Isn't that their goal?" 

"No," Jack said. "Why have more than one. Plus, that would lead us to believe that they are potentially more than one Epitorum on the planet as well." 

"You want me to check it out, right?" Tristan asked. 

"That's right, mister Watcher. It's your job ain't it?" came a new voice from behind Tristan. Both men turned around to meet the gaze of a tall blonde girl, garbed in officer's clothes similar to Jack. They both knew the stare of her ice blue eyes well, as did most of the LEA. Elosia's Epitorum was not to be trifled with. 

"Sarah," Jack said, relieved to see her. "I was about to send for you." 

"I know," Sarah said with a grin. 

"What do you think, then?" Jack asked her. Sarah nodded and closed her eyes for a moment. Seconds later, she looked up. 

"It's quite odd," she said. "The time stream around this area has somewhat of a blanket of distortion on it. It's hard to see down." 

"Meaning what?" Tristan asked. 

"Meaning that something in the near future is going to happen that will send the time stream into a split. That makes it hard for me to see." 

"So this planet…" Jack said. "It's important." He sighed. "Should Tristan go down?" 

Sarah considered it for a moment. "Yes," she said finally. "You…have others down there. There are definitely multiple potentials down there, and they're going to be at the forefront of the action that determines this planet's future." 

"Fine," Jack conceded. He turned to Tristan. "I want you to make planet-fall by 0600, according to Celes Standard Time. You can make the plans from there. Go find one of these blips and gather what you can on it. Report back to me within 48 hours. We'll figure out what to do from there once we confirm the potential for a Planeswalker." 

"Good," Tristan said. "You want I should call for Watcher reinforcements?" 

"You think you need them?" Jack prodded. 

"Of course not," Tristan said, semi-sarcastically. "I'm the Great Tristan Tenser, right?" 

"So get your ass to Mission Prep and make planet-fall," Sarah finally said, getting annoyed. 

"Yeesh," Tristan said with a grunt. "Okay, I'm going, I'm going. Anything else?" He asked. 

"Get records of their methods of armed warfare," Jack said. "If we have to go down there in force, we might not want to stand out. So figure out if they use tanks, planes, submarines, or whatever." 

"Gotcha," Tristan said with a nod. "I'm off, then." 

"They fixed your gun, by the way," Jack said. "That new model of the Melta-gun?" 

"My Firepike design?" Tristan asked. Jack nodded. "Excellent!" he exclaimed in with an Irish accent. No one responded. "Umm…okay, then," he said. "I'll be going." All three Adeptus saluted and Tristan spun on his heels and left the bridge. 

"You know, it's amazing he's as good as he is," Sarah said. "I wouldn't have trusted something like this to Tristan. He'll probably find the Potential and get him drunk instead of testing their power." 

"He's a powerful warrior, Sarah," Jack said with a sigh. "You can't forget that. If this area of the time stream is as important as you imply, we at least need one of our best down there." 

"He's no more capable of taking down a Class B than any of us, leaving him just as helpless as the rest of us if he has to tango with the Lavoid." 

"We don't need to worry about the Lavoid right now," Jack said. "One crisis at a time, right?" 

"I guess." 

"Then relax," he said. "We'll wait up here in orbit for the few days. Read up on information for this planet, in the mean time." 

"You think we'll find anything substantial?" 

"Didn't you just say we would?" 

"I've been wrong. I want to know what you think." 

"I think if we have a chance, we should go for it." 

"But will we find anything?" 

"I hardly consider myself one with premonition," Jack said, taking a deep breath. "But it looks like a situation identical to that of Zeal. The instance of a Vessel and a Planeswalker can't be to far behind." 


	2. Child of Fate

**Chapter 1**

**Child of Fate**

The war of Lyons and Denegrad had been going on longer than anyone could remember. It was due to this length of time that most people forgot what they were fighting for, let along how it started. Most people in Lyons tried to separate themselves from the war as much as possible. Such was the case as it stood with any of the High Schools in the country, and such as it was at one party in one town in one city in the great country of Lyons. 

Pounding music filled the house with a deafening roar. Not that anyone could really hear the music, though. It was more along the lines a pounding baseline that everyone occupying the house was already too drunk to hear, let along comprehend the lyrics. If they had been sober, they would have been wondering why the police hadn't broken it up yet. 

Everyone was enjoying his or her self pretty well, mostly because they were too plastered to not have a good time. The only person who didn't see to be absolutely enthralled with his situation was a young man sitting on a couch in the middle of the dimly lit room. Quietly ignoring the slurping noises coming from the joined mouths of the couple next to him, he silently read to himself the letter in his hands that he had probably looked at twenty times already this day. 

Tyrion Mandrake was considered a pretty odd individual by most of his peers. To make things more difficult, he was never quite able to blend into a crowd, mostly due to his predominate feature, his head of dark blue hair. Messily cascading over his forehead and tied in the back into a long braid that almost reached his waist, you couldn't miss him in a group of people. 

People had always teased Tyrion by calling him simply genetically superior to the rest of the school. Naturally, this was the source of much jealousy. Why should he get to be the smartest and the fastest and the strongest? What made him so damned special? It wasn't all exaggeration, either. He was expected to be Valedictorian at the end of this senior year of High School. He was captain of both the debate team _and_ the hockey team. Not only that, but he had an extremely good looking girlfriend to boot. Obviously, this was probably the biggest cause for jealously amongst his male classmates, though his other highly respected possession, a black belt in an ancient Ithilmarian form of martial arts, tended to sway these said classmates from going after his said source of jealously. 

Ah, his girlfriend. That was where the letter he was reading came from. She was down south over this winter vacation making a last examination of colleges before applications were due. She could probably get in wherever she wanted, so it all seemed redundant to him (though he had already been accepted on early admission to his first choice of college). He missed her, through all of this, and the party scene was decisively lacking without her presence. Swirling the beer around in the cup he held, he read the letter yet again, his deep amethyst eyes sore with pain. 

_Hope everything is going well up there, Ty. Things are wonderful down here. There are so many schools to choose from, I don't know what I'm going to do. I'm upset I didn't have a first choice, like you did. But, I'll make due. You'll be so proud of me wherever I go._

_You know I want to go so school down here, even though you got into college further North. I don't want you worrying about that. Lyons isn't that big after all. We'll find a way to stay together._

_I've got to go now. I'm sorry this is all could write. Look on the bright side, though; by the time you get this, I'll be home in a few days. I miss you, Tyrion. I'll be back soon. Love always, Rachel._

Tyrion sighed deeply. He was sure he was in love with her. He would marry her when they got out of college. He was upset that they were going so far apart for school. Maybe proposal before their senior year was over would ensure that they would stay together. 

He always wondered why he was lucky enough to end up with someone like her. She was every teenager's wet dream through junior high. As if her body wasn't perfect enough, she was smart and funny and just lifted the mood of everyone when she walked into a room. If God would really tare them apart, then God had one sick sense of humor. Not that Tyrion believed heavily in a God, though. Organized religion wasn't for him. The only real form of religion left in Lyons was that of the Apostle of Griever Church, more commonly called the Griever Sect. Tyrion didn't buy into that. The thought of some all powerful being controlling the history of everyone on his planet simply irked him the wrong way. 

Folding the paper up slowly, going by the creases he had made from folding it after every time he read it, he placed it into the inside pocket the brown leather jacket he was wearing. Gazing in mixed disgust and envy of the couple next to him, he climbed out off of the couch, leaving his beer on the end table to his right. 

"You know, you should try to get over this whole melodrama of your girlfriend being away for two weeks," came a voice from beside him. He looked to see the slightly drunken face of a guy who's name was Josh, but everyone just called Jolt because of his constant intake of caffeine. Like most people Tyrion knew, he considered Jolt a friend. He had a lot of friends, though a dismal few that he could consider close. 

"You know, you shouldn't pick on me because I'm depressed," Tyrion said softly, giving the slightly shorter Jolt a bit of a cold stare. 

"You should just be getting slammed like the rest of us, dude," he said, patting Tyrion on the back. 

"I don't get drunk," Tyrion corrected him. 

"Nonsense!" Jolt said. "Everyone gets drunk!" 

"Not me," Tyrion said with a shrug. "I just don't drink enough." 

"Maybe that's your problem," Jolt said, looking at him with a goofy face. "You'll feel better once you can't remember that your girlfriend is probably down there cheating on you." 

"Shut up," he said. "She wouldn't do that." Jolt then took it on himself to poll the rest of the room. 

"Who thinks Ty's girlfriend is boning someone else down South!?" he shouted at the top of his lungs. Adamantly, at least half of the room raised their cups in a cheer of acknowledgement. 

"You know I could kill you for that," Tyrion said bitterly. 

"That's the scary part," Jolt said, suddenly seriously. "You would." Then he simply broke out laughing. Tyrion shrugged it off and walked off aimlessly into the crowd. Somewhat upsetting, he found Jolt following him. Trying to find something interesting to watch, he noticed the brewing of a fight off in one corner of the room. There was some really big guy pushing around a much littler one. The smaller person couldn't have been more than a sophomore and probably had not done something against his thus unlearned code of the keg party. Tyrion could vaguely hear the slurring of 'what did you say about my girlfriend?' coming from the mouth of the larger guy. 

"Who's that guy?" Tyrion asked, pointing to the big person. 

"Him?" Jolt asked. "I'm surprised you don't remember him. You had a hat trick against his team last weekend." 

"Farfield High School?" Tyrion asked. 

"I think he was the captain. I'd be amazed if he remembered you, though, in his current state of drunkenness." 

"That looks like it's getting nasty over there," Tyrion said, showing signs of worry. "I think I'm gonna break it up…" he said softly as he walked over the impending beat down. Quickly juxtaposing himself between the two potential combatants, he spread his arms out and pushed them away from each other. "Quit it!" he yelled to the two of them. "How would you like it if you were gracious enough to host the Friday party only to have your house messed by some stupid fight?!" It took a few moments, but eventually, the big guy remembered Jack. 

"Hey, I remember you," he bellowed, backing up slightly. "You nearly broke the leg of our starting left wing!" Not being able to actually rationalize if fighting with Tyrion was what he really wanted to do, he shoved Tyrion backwards, nearly into the smaller kid whom had just been saved from an inevitable pummeling. 

"I'm not looking for a fight, Tyrion defended himself verbally. It's just not nice to pick on smaller people." He looked back to the smaller kid. "Get the hell out of here," he told him. "You should learn not to piss off people his size. You shouldn't even be here in the first place." The smaller kid woozily nodded his head before picking up the cup that he had dropped and running off into the next room. 

"I think you just found one, though," The big guy said, pushing him again. 

"Look," Tyrion said. "Was that kid really worth it? What would you have gotten out of beating the crap out of him, huh?" 

"He was talkin' shit about my girlfriend!" the big guy said. 

"No he wasn't!" Tyrion said, even though he was unaware of what actually happened before the fight almost broke out. "You're just hearing things." 

"Listen, Blue," the big guy said, poking Tyrion in the chest with his big fore finger. "We don't need no do-gooders likes you breakin' up fights. You know who I am?" 

"You're nothing but shit off my shoe," Tyrion said. "Now get out of here and go have another beer. It's not worth the trouble." 

"I think you're worth the trouble," he said, pushing Tyrion again, this time into the wall. 

"Dude, you've got three seconds to back down," Tyrion said, trying to sound menacing and hoping the guy wasn't too drunk to comprehend reason. 

"Okay," the big guy said with a shrug. "One…two…" he started to count. When he reached three, though, he wound up his big fist and slammed it into Tyrion's stomach. "Three," he finally spat as he Tyrion doubled over. "That's what you get for not minding your own business." Slowly, though, and to his surprise, Tyrion reeled up again, standing tall. He gritted his teeth. Tyrion eyed him bitterly for a moment before finally growling out a challenge. 

"Fine. You want a fight?" he asked rhetorically, staring upward at the guy. The guy didn't answer, but bit his lip and stared at Tyrion bitterly. Tyrion took it at a yes. "Outside!" he yelled, pointing to the door. Pushing past the guy, he stormed out the front door as the chants of 'fight!' echoed behind him. As he reached the front lawn, the big guy exited the door behind him, along with almost the entirety of the party. A circle was quickly formed Tyrion faced the big guy. 

The blue haired youth slowly took off his leather jacket, his rippling arms revealing themselves outside of his black tank top. Throwing the jacket to the side, he looked for someone who might still retain intelligent thought. 

"Call the cops," he said softly to a relatively sober looking brunette girl. She nodded quickly and headed back into the house. 

"You've gonna die, Blue!" the big guy said, slurring the words as he pointed. Tyrion ignored him, cracking his knuckles and preparing for the battle. His large opponent didn't want to disappoint him however, as he simply ran forward with his head lowered and tried to tackle Tyrion. Simply stepping aside, Tyrion dodged the attack, though the people that were standing behind him weren't as lucky. 

Tyrion's opponent quickly recovered, not really feeling pain as much as he would in a more sober state. Rising again, he stumbled towards Tyrion with large arms flailing. With giant fists, he swung at Tyrion again and again, but the blue haired fighter simply faded out of the way of each attack. Swaying effortlessly, his movements were simply and fluid. The brute before him couldn't hope to connect. Eventually missing with one final punch, the excess amount of force he had put into the strike sent him flying past his target and careening into the ground. 

He stumbled to his feet again to look at the cocky form of Tyrion, who had not even taken up a fighting position. Simply standing there with his arms at his side, he seemed to beckon at him. It took him awhile to clear his head this time, but he promptly rushed at Tyrion again, not even noticing that the youth was embarrassing the hell out of him. Still making it look effortless, Tyrion placed his hands in his pockets as he slipped away from the next desperate attack. Hopping back again, he looked down at the fallen young man. 

"You know, you fight like a girl," he taunted. He didn't really want to hurt him…that badly, but just wanted to buy time until the cops showed up and sent everyone off on their way. "I think maybe I'll start to use my hands now, if you're up for it." 

"You little…I'll kill you!" he shouted, jumping up off of the ground and running at Tyrion again. Now the blue haired combatant decided to give his mammoth of an opponent some pay back for the gut punch before. Keeping his hands in his pockets, he stepped aside again, swinging his leg up into his opponent's gut. Temporarily stunned, he wasn't able to do anything as Tyrion finally attacked. With a roundhouse kick to the side of the head and a follow up reverse heel kick to the kidney area, Tyrion pummeled his opponent, who could only simply groan as he was smashed further with a series of four kicks to random parts of his body and finally an awkwardly executed kick that smashed into his nose. 

Regaining his position, the big guy once again swung at Tyrion with his giant fist. Finally snapping his hands out of his pockets, Tyrion blocked out the punch and grabbed the brute's wrist. Snapping it over and spinning around, he quickly flipped his enemy over his leg, sending him into the ground with a thud. Not yet releasing his hold on the boy's wrist, he stepped over him and gave it a quick and violent twist. The people who were sober enough to understand what the quickly following snapping sound meant cringed as Tyrion finally stood up and walked over to where he had dropped his jacket. Picking it up and putting it back on, he sighed. 

"Maybe with a broken wrist you'll be less inclined to pick on people smaller than you," Tyrion said casually as he pushed his way through the assembled crowd and began to walk towards his car. Strolling down the street, outside of the wall of parked cars, he vaguely saw behind him as the crowd of people went to examine the body that he had just felled. The big guy certainly had a broken wrist, and Tyrion wouldn't be surprised if he had caused some internal bleed with his kicks to the boy's kidneys. It didn't really matter though. The paramedics would show up after the cops. 

Basking in his victory, though it hadn't been that hardly earned, he didn't notice a sleek black limousine pulled up behind him. One of the tinted windows rolled down as it ran up next to him. From inside the car, someone called his name, gaining his attention. 

"Tyrion Mandrake?" the raspy voice called from the inside of the vehicle. Tyrion turned slowly. His own car was still a little further up. Its red convertible form was shining even in the dark of the night. 

"Yes?" Tyrion asked slowly, trying to see into the car but to no avail. 

"Excuse us for bothering you, and this may sound abrupt, but we're with the Lyons Government. My name is Agent Kallar." Suddenly, a hand with a badge blazon with the seal of the Lyons Federal Intelligence Bureau came out of the window. 

"Umm…okay," Tyrion said with a shrug. "What can I help you with?" 

"Mr. Mandrake, we saw that fight you were just in. The one that lasted about half a minute?" 

"Yeah, okay," Tyrion said. 

"And noted that you use a style of combat similar belonging to an ancient Ithilmar brotherhood." 

"And what of it?" Tyrion asked, now getting a little bothered. 

"You're movements are very fast, Mr. Mandrake. And your technique seems impeccable." 

"Okay…" Tyrion said, fading out. "I'm going to be leaving now, Agent. I'm going to get in my car and you're going to leave me alone." 

"Wait," the voice pleaded. "Here me out, first." 

"You have thirty seconds," Tyrion said bitterly. "And then I'm going home." 

"Then I'll make it very short. Basically, your government needs you, Mr. Mandrake. We've been watching you for some time now. It's promising youth like yourself that we've been looking to take into our wings to fight the Denegradian scum." Tyrion distorted his face in confusion for a moment. 

"Wonderful," he said sarcastically. "I'm sure it does, but right now, I have better things to do." Tyrion started to walk ahead, but the car slowly followed him. When the open window caught to him, he was caught in shock when a hand with a gun extended from the car. 

"Get in the car," the Agent said simply and coldly as he waved the gun in Tyrion's face. Tyrion's eyes widened and without thinking, jumped out of the way of the car. Wondering instantly what kind of crap he was getting into, he sprinted away from the road and onto the property behind the cars. 

"Follow him!" the Agent yelled to the driver of the car. The car peeled out as the accelerator was slammed on and the car spurted forward. Making a right at the next turn, they hoped to catch the youth on the other side of the set of houses he was running past. 

Ignoring the car and knowing better than to go back to his own car, Tyrion endeavored to stay within the cover of the trees and shadows cast by the houses in the neighborhood. Sprinting through a series of backyards that he had known since his childhood, it occurred to him that his house might be suddenly unsafe as well. 

Having to finally cross a street, he bolted across the open road, only to see the black limo still coming after him down a main avenue! Avoiding the open space of the park that presented itself before him, he ran off towards a large set of buildings that made up a library complex. He could here the car coming after him (as the rest of the road was rightfully empty at 1:00 in the morning), and tried to judge its position from the roar of its engine. 

He heard the noise of the engine subside as he hid in some bushes. They were waiting for him. He say silently for a moment until something in the bushes behind him rustled slightly. Were they out of the car and chasing him? 

Moments later, a hand wrapped around his mouth and pulled him down to the ground. Struggling to break free, Tyrion jabbed his elbow where he thought his assailant's stomach should be and was satisfied when a grunt came from behind him and he was released. Springing up into a fighting position, he looked to face his new attacker. 

"Who are you?!" he demanded at the fallen man on the floor. The man slowly rose up to reveal a face of a middle aged man. He was wearing what looked like running clothes. 

"Keep your voice down!" the man hissed. "Do you want them to hear you?" Tyrion didn't drop his hands from his ready stance. 

"Don't move, asshole," he said, his voice shaking somewhat. He was scared. He didn't know what was going on. 

"I'm not one of them," he pleaded in harsh whisper. "And unless you want them to get you, keep your voice at a whisper. They're looking for you." 

"Who are you? Who are they?" Tyrion asked. 

"They're agents from Denegrad special forces, posing as members of the Lyons FIB. They're trying to capture you." 

"Trying to capture me? No shit," Tyrion spat, trying to whisper now. "But how do I know you're telling the truth?" 

"I'm from Lyons," the man said. "I work for Military Intelligence." He flashed his badge in front of Tyrion. "Those men are imposters. Why else would I be here helping you?" 

"What do you want with me?" he asked hesitantly, slowly circling around the man and not dropping his guard. 

"I just need to talk with you," the man said. "And to save you from those Denegrad agents." 

"Why?" 

"There's no time to explain. Just come with me if you want to live." 

"My ass, there isn't time," Tyrion hissed. "We'll make time." 

"Do want to die?" the man said. Tyrion shook his head. "Then come with me." Then from the outside on the road, they heard someone shout 'there they are!' and Tyrion looked at the man skeptically. Why was this happening suddenly? Who do you trust? The one who offers to help, or the one who points a gun at you? What was the answer? 

"Okay…" Tyrion said slowly, walking toward the man. He knew the answer. "I'll go with you…" The answer was 'neither.' As he edged toward the man, he quickly slid forward and punched the man in the face, following it up with a knee to the crotch. The man collapsed and Tyrion burst out of the bushes onto the main street. Suddenly, something lit up behind him and he turned to see the headlights of the black limo staring him down. 

Tyrion started to run. He ran and he ran and he ran. He ran like he had never run in his life. Suddenly filled with a new energy, some new power filling him, he sprinted down the road without exhaustion. Behind him, the limo began to chase after him. For a car, though, Tyrion thought it should be catching up faster. It sounded like it was being floored, but when he looked back, it almost looked like he was gaining ground on the car. This didn't make much sense. He wasn't faster than a car, and yet, the car couldn't keep up with him. On and on he went, sprinting for his life and behind him, he heard the car screech to a stop. They couldn't catch up. They had given up. He had won…but for how long? 

Back at the stilled form of the black limo, Agent Kallar climbed out of the car and looked down the street at the form of young Tyrion Mandrake getting away from them. He held up a small device to the air and it began to give readouts of energy residues. 

"Well?" came a pained voice from beside Agent Kallar. He turned to see the man in the running suit limp up to the car, clutching his genitals. 

"What happened to you?" 

"He's strong," the other agent whimpered. 

"And fast," Kallar confirmed. 

"So?" the agent asked. "Did you at least get a reading?" 

"Check it out," Kallar said casually, handing him the device he had just used. The other agent looked at the readings. His eyes opened wide. 

"Mother of Adrakel…" he mumbled. "He's…" 

"Yup," Kallar said. "He's definitely the one. So that's one down…one to go." 

. 

Elsewhere on the Lyons continent 

Tristan Tenser climbed out of the landing pod which he had just used to reach the surface of Planet Celes. As the repulsion field of the ship disappeared and he stepped on to a rocky ground of the surface, he found himself in the middle of some sort of salt flats. There wasn't anything besides the caked dirt of the ground for as long as the eye could see. 

"Man, when Jack said 'not noticeable landing point,' he really meant it," he said with a sigh, talking to himself. "What a dump this is…" As he spoke, he heard a small alert signal coming from the inside of his ship. Jumping back into the LEA craft, he checked his warning table and hit a few buttons, causing the flashing blue lights and low hum to cease. 

"What's this…?" he asked himself, checking the readings that had set off the alarm. "LE shockwaves not coming from a potential dwelling?" He tapped a few more buttons, establishing a link with the Weatherlight. 

"Weatherlight, this is Colonel Tenser," he said into the com unit. 

"This is Weatherlight," a voice said over the link. "Go ahead, Colonel." 

"Patch me through to the High Commander," Tristan said. 

"Right away, sir," the voice said. There was a pause in the communication before Jack's familiar voice came over the unit. 

"What is it, Trist?" Jack asked. 

"Jack, we've got a problem." 

"Mass LE shockwaves from a non-potential dwelling?" Jack asked, already having seen the readout from the orbit." 

"I think we found one of them, Jack," Tristan said. "Just get me the location of that source and I'll have him in no time." 

"We've got the trace all ready," Jack said. "We just sent it to your ship." 

"Right," Tristan said. "Colonel Tenser, over and out." He shut off the link and quickly ran over to another computer screen on the bridge. There, the longitudinal coordinates of the Pulse showed up. "Garden City…" he said to himself with a grin. "Well, Mr. Tenser. Let's go have some fun." 

. 

_"The first manifestation of the Black Wings can occur at just about any time in a young Planeswalker's life. It is, however, most typically brought on by intense emotional stress or an extremely pressing situation…"  
–Planeswalker Report, Inquisitor Rithar_


	3. Scheming

**Chapter 2**

**Scheming**

Tyrion didn't go home that night. His parents were both out of town for the next few weeks on business, so he had the house to himself, but something didn't feel safe about it. Typically, he would have crashed at Rachel's place, but since she was out of town also, he found his way to another friend's house. He stayed here for a day or so, keeping silent about the entirety of Friday's happenings, still trying to figure out what was going on, anyway. He still didn't know if he had done the right thing or who he should have gone with, hoping that things would settle down, but realizing that they probably wouldn't. 

He didn't want to go to the police because he honestly thought that they wouldn't be able to do anything, anyway. He didn't know what was going on, and it was happening to him. If this really was tied into the upper regions of the government, either Lyons or Denegrad, then he might be in a good deal of trouble. What irked him more was why they were looking for him. What did they need him for, and maybe more importantly, how long had they been watching him? 

They had said they were looking for people to fight against Denegrad, but why? There was a draft. Why didn't that work? Why did they need him? Life had suddenly become much more confusing, and he was suddenly wishing he had just stayed home and done his homework that Friday. Now, all that seemed available for him to do was wait for Rachel to come home. She would help him calm down and feel better. She always did… 

. 

Outside of Garden City 

Tristan looked at the limits of Garden City, which seemed to be built in the middle of nowhere. It had been close to the salt flats he had landed on, and the whole city simply grew out of the dehydrated earth. The white faced buildings in the center of the city, while small by Elosia standards, were relatively tall. The city itself wasn't that big, containing mostly small buildings and a series of suburbs. The entire city itself was surrounded with a white wall that was about eight feet in height and you had to enter through a gate to get in. It was a clear sign of a country that was at war. 

Typing into a small hand held computer, Tristan began reading aloud the information that he was receiving after quickly hacking into the Central Intelligence of the Lyon's government. And yes, it was that simple. 

"The countries of Lyons and Denegrad were caught in a near stalemate for a good ten years and fighting had been at a minimum," he said out loud. "Until the superior training and military tactics of the Denegrad military finally began to win out and it appeared as if Denegrad would pull through the twenty year war as the victor." He sighed and took a puff of the cigarette hanging out of his mouth, exhaling the smoke into the air. 

"It was three months ago, however, that they made contact with the M-1, a seemingly mysterious military organization offering their services in the war against Denegrad. The M-1 were brilliant fighters and tacticians and began to swing the war in the favor of Lyons, though their motives remained unclear." Searching for information on battle tactics of this world, he found a minor subarticle, which he also read aloud. 

"Recently, with the technology available, infantry combat has been entirely replaced with the mechanic exoskeletons known as Armours. Functionally turning each man into more of a tank, the Armours are body encasing suits of, oh what a surprise, armor, powered mostly by the energy given off by the wearer…how ingenious," Tristan added as a side note." 

"Armaments differ from Armour to Armour, and different types of infantry have been replaced with different types of Armour squads. While the technological differences between the Armours of Lyons and Denegrad is apparent, both countries now fully utilize them. It is, however, the Armours from Ithilmar that are most prized when one can be obtained. Using technology that seems to far exceed that of the other nations and powered by a currently unknown source, the Ithilmar Armours are regarded by the Lyons military as works of art. Most typically, each Armour will be different, as opposed to the mass produced 'generic' Armours of Lyons. Each Armour is a distinct killing machine." 

"Weaponry ranges from types that are built directly into the Armour itself, to the more common use of a gun or comparable weapons carried by the user. With the added strength that the exoskeleton provides, more powerful arms can be carried by a single soldier." 

"Well, those will be fun to deal with," Tristan said, closing the hack link and putting the computer back in his coat pocket. "Not to much unlike our own Powered Armour. I'd be amazed if the technology rivaled ours, but maybe we'll be able to pick up a few ideas." Sighing deeply, he looked back towards the hiding place he had picked for his ship before walking forward into the city. No one would be able to actually find his drop ship, as he had activated a holographic protection field that prevented anyone from seeing it. He didn't really have reason to worry. 

Even though the walls that surrounded the city would have suggested otherwise, there wasn't any form of security check when entering the city. The entrance was a large building in the wall which he passed through with ease. Passing through one long hallway, he eventually passed through a plastic white mesh gateway and into a Garden City suburb. 

The movement and action of was reminiscent of any large trade city. People drove around on the black and gray streets in car-type vehicles of varying colors (though mostly white) and varying sizes. Tristan, using a map that he had uploaded into his computer, quickly located a hotel further into the city where he could stay while he looked for this person. He managed to grab a cab while arranging the hotel's computers to have had him on reservation, and rode the cab to his destination. 

The hotel was, according to the electronic brochure, a luxurious place. Not that price would be a problem, as Tristan could easily trick the hotel computer into thinking that he had paid, just as easy as he had tricked it into thinking that he had a reservation. The hotel was located in an area where the suburbs were beginning to turn into the city. It was a large white building with a red awning stretched over the driveway which Tristan was dropped off in front of. Paying the cabby with some Lyons funds which he had exchanged his Dominion Credits for at the entrance to the city, he entered the hotel's main room and promptly made himself comfortable on one of the many couches. 

Once again, he took out his palm held computer and reestablished a link with the electronic information network that existed in Lyons. Returning to his hack of the Federal Intelligence Bureau, he began to look for any information the government might have on his target. Naturally, blue haired people expressing emissions of Lavoid Energy aren't missed by something like an Intelligence agency, albeit one that did not seem to have, as Tristan would put it, effective anti-hacker technology. Thusly, it wasn't surprising when Tristan's Mystery Man happened to have a file with the FIB. 

A screen came up with a picture of a young man, not more than 18 years old, with dark amethyst eyes and darker blue hair. Below the front and profile pictures was a readout of the man's vital statistics 

"Tyrion Mandrake, huh?" Tristan said out loud. "Now, what did you do to get a file in a Federal computer?" Tristan scrolled down the window and continued to read out loud. "Wanted for arrest on sight by Federal Intelligence Bureau? Capture integral to the M-1 Ally Agreement?" Tristan cocked his head sideways. "What did this kid do and why are they after him?" Unfortunately, though, nothing else was listed about Tyrion. Either it was on a higher security level, or it was on a different computer network. It wouldn't be too hard to find, but Tristan decided to work with what he had for the moment. 

"He resides in Garden City at…" he checked the address. "35 Kilmer Road." Tristan smiled. "Well, lets go pay Mr. Mandrake a visit…" 

. 

Garden City Suberbs 

Tyrion sprawled across the bed in a white room. His eyes were closed tight in concentration, trying to calm down, as he recited the past days events. Around him was the history of his life that he would care to remember. Pictures of either him, or him and Rachel adornend the wall and a framed picture of him sat on the end table next to the bed he was on. 

Rachel herself was sitting on the bed, next to him, listening to the story. Her dark brown hair cascaded down her shoulders, concealing her delicate back. She looked at him worridly with light blue eyes, not yet knowing how to respond. When he finally stopped, she laid down next to him. 

Now, Rachel was an interesting person, mostly in the fact that she was so amazing that any person who ranked as her 'boyfriend' would probably even wonder how he ended up with her himself. She was one of those people who, when they smiled at you, anything you were thinking about before didn't matter any more. Suddenly, the weight of your troubles was lifted off of you for one second while she met your stare, flashing her brilliant white teeth. It was at that moment, if but only for a moment, that you feel as if you are the only person in the world that matters, because you had the attention of Rachel Gatsby. 

Her eyes had a defiant penetration in them. They always seemed so soft, but it was always as if she was looking directly into your mind, trying to understand you as best as possibly. To make everyone around her feel comfortable and feel as if they mattered was the goal of this girl. Never hurtful and always kind, she didn't have a mean bone in her body. Smart, funny, beautiful, she seemed almost like the ideal woman, if of course, if there even was such a thing. Tyrion certainly hadn't found one before her, and he certainly didn't intend to lose her after he had found her. 

"They might still be after you," she said. "How can you even be sure that you're safe?" Out of instinct, she rubbed her left hand against the small charm that hung from the necklace she wore. The necklace had been Tyrion's once. He had given it to her as a gift one day to mark his love for her. 

"I'm not," Tyrion sighed. "I just figured that I'd feel best if I was here with you. I just hope I'm not getting to into whatever it is that I'm suddenly involved in." 

"Don't say that…" she said. "I'll be with you no matter what. I want to be by you. Don't just leave me alone out of fear that I might be in trouble." 

"I just wish I knew more about these guys…why are they after me? And, why haven't they come after me again, since then?" 

"What do you mean?" 

"It's been almost a week since the first incident. You figure that they know what town I'm in, let alone where my house is. My question is, why haven't they come back?" 

"You don't think that you scared them away, do you?" 

"I doubt it," he said. "They were pretty serious. I get the feeling they were testing me or something like that." 

"You said they claimed to work for the FIB," Rachel confirmed. "Do you think that they may not be from there?" 

"They recognized my fighting style," Tyrion said ponderously. "I didn't think it was that well known. How much could the FIB know about that form of fighting." 

"And the second man. He said that the agent in the limo was actually from Denegrad. Do you think he may be telling the truth?" 

"I guess I could have gone with him…" Tyrion muttered. "It just didn't feel right, though. It all seemed too…orchestrated. I'm not sure, to be honest. I mean, assuming I've done something to stir interest, which I think may be linked to my fighting, at this point, would it be that odd if the FIB were trying to protect me?" 

"You think they want to take you in as some kind of living weapon?" Rachel said, somewhat appaled. 

"I don't know about that. That sounds terrible. They said they needed me to 'fight against Denegrad,' though." 

"It doesn't sound like a draft notice, or anything like that," Rachel said. "This sounds more like a special invitation." 

"And how do they know about me, anyway?" he wondered out loud. 

"I wish I could help you, Ty," she said. "This seems out of anyone's control." 

"You could always just wait to see what happens. It doesn't sound like this is over," she said. "You can bet that something still is going to happen involving this." There was a short pause. 

"I think I'm actually scared," Tyrion finally admitted. "It's like I haven't had anything in my life to be scared of, up until this point. I mean, when those guys came after me…it was totally out of the blue. It was just supposed to be another party. Just another excuse to go out and laugh at the people that go and get drunk. It was even shaping up nicely when I got to mess up that jerk who wanted to pick a fight with a kid half his size. But, then…" He closed his eyes again. "I just want to know what I did to deserve this." 

Rachel made a hushing noise and slowly stroked at his hair. "Worrying about it isn't going to accomplish anything," she said softly. "Just try to concentrate on other things." Tyrion smiled. 

"I also want to know what I did to deserve _you_," he said. "Because I think I'm really quite undeserving." She leaned over and quickly kissed him. 

"Nonsense," she said, sitting up on the bed. "Now quit it with that whole self-bashing thing. It's a real turn off, Ty," she joked with a smile. 

"I have to go," he finally said, getting up. "I have a paper to write by tomorrow on Alternate Energy Sources, for science class. I'm going to be in trouble if I don't get going soon." 

"Oh, so it might hurt your poor little 98 GPA?" she asked, somewhat sarcastically. Tyrion grinned back. 

"Hey, whatever gets my mind off of it, right?" She nodded in agreement. 

"Come over later?" she asked. 

"You bet," he said. He leaned over and kissed her again before grabbing his bag off the chair it had been thrown over and leaving the room. The door closed shut behind him. 

"Tyrion…" Rachel said. "I worry about you…" Worriedly, she clutched the necklace in her hands, rubbing the red stone that was set into it. 

. 

Garden City 

Patting his stomach vigorously, Tristan sighed happily. The food here was good, that was for sure. He wasn't to sure what exactly it _was_ that he had just eaten, but it sure as hell was tasty. He looked casually at his watch, seeing that it was nearly 7:00, and he still hadn't eaten dessert yet. Still, tomorrow was Saturday, and that would probably be the best day to find Tyrion Mandrake. People let their guards down on Saturday. It was a proven fact. 

He promptly ordered a cup of coffee and a slice of cheese cake. He went back into his research of this planet and it's history, as it would all be required. The LEA took its information network as an extremely important aspect of its society. When the Adepts of the Weatherlight eventually did make Planetfall to deal with the Lavoid and the ever increasing situation with the Potential Planeswalker, any information they could get would be useful. 

It was this Empire known as Ithilmar that seemed to catch his attention, but unfortunately, there was very little information about it on the Lyons Information Network. It was highly possible that this mysterious country had its own network but until he had access to it, what information he had would need to do. Again, unfortunately, even the mention of it on his currently accessible information database didn't have much. Whatever there was about Ithilmar, they certainly didn't want the people in Lyons to know about it. 

What he was able to gather, was some geographic information about the Empire. It's cities weren't located on the Lyons/Denegrad continent. Indeed, their collection of city-states seemed to spread the entire world. It existed as a series of aerial cities, hovering at various altitudes, but most often above cloud cover. Functionally, they had separated themselves from the people of Lyons and Denegrad, though reasons for this remained unclear. 

How they interacted in the war between the two other nations is also something which intrigued Tristan. It just seemed that such a country, whose technological advancement outstrips the other two, would simply stay out of the war. But what was there to gain, if anything, but interfering? Could it be possible that they were just smart diplomats and decided to stay out of the business of other countries? That certainly didn't sound right. 

The other thing is that he was positive that they were manipulating Lavoid Energy. Again, the going trend was apparent. Perhaps the LEA should look into just exactly _why_ Lavoid Empowered empires like to place their cities in the sky. Jack said it probably had to do with the general superciliousness that comes with being associated to a Lavoid. Maybe they just had to show their hauteur in a manner that really _did _put them above everyone else. 

"So tomorrow, I'll meet you, Tyrion," Tristan said, taking a sip of the black coffee in front of him. For some reason, he had taken a liking to drinking his coffee black over the course of the last two years. He had never drank it this way before, but for some reason, it just seemed the only logical way to do it now. 

When his cake came, he quickly forgot about Tyrion and the LEA, once again finding that the food on this planet certainly was good, and was quite useful in forgetting why one was somewhere to begin with. 

. 

Location Unknown… 

The dim lights in the situation room for the mercenary group M-1 set the mood for this meeting. Black painted walls and a black marble table, surrounded by black chairs and high ranking M-1 officers dressed in black. On the far wall, a video screen displayed the country of Lyons, outlined in green, with a few small flashing red marks centered around the location of Garden City. There was a light hum in the air, not caused by anyone in the room, but simply the generic hum of that could be found anywhere in this particular installation. It sounded almost like an engine, but to distant to be properly identified. 

The black clad, stern faced men that sat around the table, waiting silently and patiently for the leader of the meeting, sat around the table. The leader of the meeting, his shoulders adorned with ribbons and braids marking battle commemorations, was a large man, roughly six foot four, with broad shoulders and a heavily scarred face. The black beret which he wore mirrored those worn by the rest of the gathering, save for a small emblem on the front which further signified rank. 

"Gentlemen," he finally began, slowly rising from his seat. His speaking voice was a gruff baritone. His voice sounded sore from wear. "You know why we are here." There was general concession from around the table. 

"We have finally located one of Jira's sons," he went on. "His location has been confirmed in Garden City. His energy signature has been picked up in the locations marked in red." 

"So after all this time, he finally began to radiate the Lavoid Energy," one of the men from the far end mused. "Do we know what caused the delay?" 

"Simple maturation," came another voice. "He simply wasn't projecting it up until this point. That, and his witch of a mother made sure we wouldn't be able to find him right away." 

"We don't know how she did it, though," a familiar voice said. Near to the commander, the form of one Agent Kallar ran a hand through his hair, removing his beret as he did. "We've been looking into it, but at this point, it doesn't matter much any more." 

"You saw the readings, Kallar," the commander said. "Would you state your report." 

"Surely," Kallar said, rising from his chair. "We are quite sure that he has begun to manifest his energy, at this point. The readings he gave off when he out ran my car were incredible. We're not even sure that Jira herself gives off that much. We have yet to measure her power, though, as you know how she gets…" 

"What about in comparison to…Him," another voice said. 

"You know we don't have a full measurement of His power. We expect it to be lower, of course. If it isn't, the whole planet may be in trouble." 

"And what of his brother?" the commander said. "How would the power have been distributed?" 

"We will have to capture both of them and perform some…experiments…before being able to tell that, sir." Kallar replaced his beret and sat down again. "The Energy readings were ridiculously high. He out ran a car, mind you. We think…" 

"Chaos manipulation?" someone asked. 

"Maybe not yet. Certainly it was a conscious manifestation of his Lavoid Energy. Still, if he does begin to show Chaos manipulation…" 

"What about other forms of energy? The Winds or Outer-Plane sources?" 

"No magic projection, at the moment," a new voice said. "We've looked into it." 

"He trains in Nisai Ryu, though," Kallar corrected. 

"Of course. We all understood that already. Didn't it go without saying?" 

"Still," Kallar said. "That means even if he doesn't practice it frequently, Lifestream Projection is a definite. He may not use it, or at least, he hasn't recently, but you can bet anything that he's proficient in it." 

"We're aware," the commander said. "But technically it doesn't count as magic." 

"That still doesn't remove it's destructive power," an older voice said. "We've seen what it can do in the past." 

"Still, we should worry more if he starts Chaos Manipulation," the commander said. "That takes priority." There was a pause, followed by some murmuring amongst the room. 

"So how do we acquire him?" the second voice said. 

"It's not that hard," Kallar said. "Though Agent Hai informs me that he hits very hard. Finding him is easy at this point. It's actually capturing him that is hard. 

"How is Hai?" the commander asked. 

"Broken jaw and nose. He's not sure how it happened, as he swears he was only punched in the face once. Maybe the boy was so fast that he couldn't even tell the difference between the two attacks. They say that will heal, for the most part. His genitals…that's another story." Every man in the room cringed. 

"Care must be taken," the commander grimaced. "Unless we want to deploy everything we have for this one boy, certain measures must be taken." 

"Perhaps different means of motivations should be pursued?" Kallar suggested. "Just offering a spot in the military obviously didn't entice him. Additionally, we have him on guard now." 

"He thinks you work for Lyons?" the commander said. 

"I'm not sure what he thinks. The idea was that Hai informed him that I was Denegrad. We were supposed to entrap him like that. It doesn't seem so clear anymore." 

"Perhaps we should keep the Lyons cover at the moment. We just need to give him a reason to come to us." 

"Do you have a plan?" Kallar asked the commander. 

"I always have a plan, Agent Kallar," the commander said. "That's how you get ahead in life." 

. 

_"Tyrion himself didn't know the truth until the end, but by then, fate had already been sealed," -_Jack McKlane, from "A Summary of the Celes Incident" 


	4. Hidden Machinations

**Chapter 3**

**Hidden Machinations**

Garden City Hotel 

Tristan woke up early the next morning, though he didn't intend to set out into the city until around 10:00. Pulling away the starched white, thinly made hotel sheets, he rose messily out of bed and opened the curtains on the far side of the room. It was about 7:00 in the morning, making this comparably a day that he was able to sleep late. Even for the past week of lounging in the hotel, he had been working from sun-up to sun down, gathering information about the planet, and relaying it back to the Weatherlight. 

It was like this on every planet that the Watchers surveyed first. It was normally at least a week of observation before plans could be enacted. Planetary history, military history, social history, and political structure were all important. Did they use telephones or some alternate communication? How did they dress? It was all a big game of espionage that the Watchers played. Some things could be traced from Dominion Records, saving some time, but most of the Lavoid infested planets that they had dealt with were avoided by the Dominion. Perhaps the Dominion knew more about Lavoids then they had originally stated? 

He made contact with the Weatherlight at about 7:45, after showering and gathering his equipment. He was immediately placed through to Jack, as he was on every mission. The Watchers, for the most part, reported directly to the Captain of their ship. Jack didn't want information about recruitment passing though the chain of command to much. 

"You're going after him today?" Jack asked, once the communications patch was open. Jack almost sounded bored, not receiving as much excitement as he would like. Tristan could hear the sound of Sarah eating breakfast in the background over the speaker phone. 

"That's the plan, boss," Tristan said. "I've got all the info down. I'm worried he might resist a bit." 

"Do you have a cover story?" 

"I'm going with the Ithilmar story, Jack," Tristan said. "I've procured the materials from a counterfeiter down town. Also, I've been working on accessing the Ithilmar network, but it's much better guarded than even the highest military sites on the Lyons network." 

"They're much more secretive, obviously," Jack said. "And they're hiding something. Regardless, we have, for when you need them, mappings of all of the Ithilmar cities that we've located from orbit. They've been using some sort of cloaking device to keep them hidden from plain view, making finding them a bit of a hassle." 

"Any idea which one is their capital?" 

"Probably the biggest one," Jack said. "But if, or more likely when, you have to go there, we'll hopefully have maps of the city layouts as well. What are you posing as when you address him?" 

"Ithilmar Military Intelligence," Tristan said. "I just hope he hasn't been approached by them already. That could blow everything." 

"We know something caused that outburst of Lavoid Energy," Jack admitted. "He may have already been contacted by a military establishment." 

"What do you have on this M-1 stuff?" Tristan asked. "I've been hard pressed to acquire anything on it." 

"Same here," Jack said. 

"And I can't see anything down there," came Sarah's voice. "There's to much energy interference. I either need to be closer, or we need to wipe out what's causing it. I don't know yet." 

"You're company's always welcome down here, Sarah," Tristan said. "If you ever want to come down…" 

"Shut up, Tristan," Jack snapped. "We'll send men down when we're ready. In the mean time, we need to make contact with this boy." 

"Again, though, what about M-1? I think they're major players. He's wanted for something having to do with the M-1 agreement. I think their terms of service to Lyons is possibly involved in his capture. That would make the Lyons Government hot after him." 

"We're looking into it," Jack said. "But we don't even know where they operate out of. We need to see some mobilization of M-1 units. Then at least we can analyze something." 

"There hasn't been any activity on the front?" 

"Not yet. It's like someone is waiting for something. It appears as if we picked a good time to find this planet." 

"What about trying to draw M-1 out with a mock attack?" 

"No," came Sarah's voice again. "I think going after this…Tyrion, will be enough. It's not prescience this time," she admitted. "Call it a hunch. If he's important to some agreement between M-1 and Lyons, I think if we bring him out into the open, then M-1 can't be far behind." 

"Right," Tristan agreed. "I'm off then. I need to eat first, and then we'll see about this boy." 

"Keep us posted, Tristan," Jack said. "And don't do anything rash. We don't need our presence known, yet." 

"You got it, chief," Tristan said. "Talk to you later." With that, he hung up the phone and got dressed. Downing some coffee from the automatic coffee brewer in the room, he headed down to get something to eat. 

. 

Tyrion's Home, Garden City 

Something resounded in the distance, but Tyrion couldn't pick up what it was. Some kind of ringing, or a bell of some kind. He wondered for a moment whether he was even conscious or not, finally realizing that he was just waking from sleep. He was in his room, his face planted on his computer keyboard. On the screen in front of him, a paper titled "Alternate Sources of Energy, Solving the Fuel Problem," remained unfinished. He looked at his watch. It was 10:00. 

"Did I fall asleep?" he asked himself. Then he realized that he never called Rachel. "Oh, man. I hope she's not upset. I was supposed to go over there last night. I guess I really was more tired than I thought…" 

He pushed himself up from the chair and noticed that he was indeed wearing the same clothes that he had been wearing the night before. His lack of sleep had caught up to him. He must have passed out at around 9:30 last night, while he was still typing his paper. Climbing to his feet, he looked at himself in the mirror. His hair was disheveled, his clothes wrinkled, and his eyes drooping from lack of sleep. He looked paler than usual, his amethyst eyes showing darker than they normally did. 

It wasn't until after a minute of looking at himself, he realized what the ringing was. It was coming from downstairs. It was, of course, the doorbell. 

"Who comes over at 10:00 on a Saturday?" he asked himself, finding his way to the door and heading downstairs to meet the lunatic who's up by 10:00 on a morning like this and had time to come and visit. The entry hall to his house was of decent girth with about five feet of wall space on either side of the inward opening door. Looking out of peep-hole, he saw a man, about 20 years old, with long blonde hair and a black trench coat. 

"What the?" he asked himself, becoming slightly cautious. Slowly, he opened the door just enough to look out of the crack and speak to the man in front of him. 

"What do you want?" he asked impolitely. 

"Sorry to wake you," the man on the other side of the door said. "My name is Tristan Tenser. I was wondering if I could speak with you." 

"About what?" Tyrion asked, now on guard for sudden action on the man's part. 

"I'd like to talk about you," Tristan said. "Please, can I come in?" Tyrion realized something was most definitely up. 

"Who do you work for?" Tyrion asked, somewhat sneering. 

"I'm from Ithilmar Intelligence," Tristan said, waving the false identification he had gained earlier that week. "I need to speak to you about some events that have recently happened." He was being deceptively clever in his wording, not letting his own relative lack of knowledge on the situation become apparent. 

"Ithilmar?" Tyrion asked, never connecting the mysterious country to anything besides his martial arts training. Something was up, but he wasn't sure yet. 

"That's what I said," Tristan repeated. "Are you going to let me in?" Tyrion didn't say anything for about half a minute. This was wrong. 

"…Sure…" Tyrion said hesitantly, knowing full well that this was going to be a problem. He retreated behind the door to give himself cover. Slowly, he opened the door, remaining behind it for as long as possible. "Please…come right in." Tristan casually accepted the invitation, but once Tyrion could see the very tip of Tristan's nose from around the door, he acted quickly, slamming the door shut, ramming it into Tristan's shoulder. Then, swinging around in a circle, he brought his leg up at Tristan's face, attacking at the nose with his heel. His movement was as quick as he could muster, his training showing through in the perfect form of the attack. He was greatly surprised, however, when his foot was caught by Tristan's hand, and the blonde man was not even phased. 

"What?" Tyrion asked in shock. 

"Wow," Tristan said, still holding Tyrion's heel. "Now, that kick is familiar, but I know Lucia doesn't have that exact form documented yet. But, they were right. You certainly are fast." 

Tyrion jumped backwards and got in a ready stance to fight. 

"No need for violence," Tristan said, not even reaching for a gun. "I just said I wanted to talk." 

"Bull shit," Tyrion spat, sliding forward with a swinging left knife edge attack and following with a reverse punch and then a close-quarter roundhouse. His movements were nothing but blurs to the human eye, but Tristan blocked both hand attacks, and spun out of the way of the roundhouse. Tyrion didn't give up though, recovering and lashing out with a forward right palm strike and a flying knee towards Tristan's gut. Once again, Tristan deflected the palm strike, and side stepped the knee. 

"It's not much use," Tristan said. "I really don't see why we have to fight." 

"Ahh!" Tyrion yelled, wheeling back and launching a set of three side kicks at varying points on the body, and completing with a two handed palm thrust to Tristan's chest. Tristan swatted each kick out of the way, then in a swift motion of his left arm, blocked the two handed strike, swung his arms in a circle, and locked Tyrion's wrists underneath his right arm. 

"Again, there's no need for violence, Tyrion," Tristan said, using Tyrion's name for the first time. "I'm not working for whoever you think I'm working for." Judging from Tyrion's original question as to who he worked for, he could only guess that someone had already tried to contact him, as Jack had predicted. Apparently the Tactical Indoctrination of Superior Logic really worked. "I want to help. You're in deeper than you know." 

Tyrion sneered, spinning leftward and ramming Tristan with his hip. Tristan's grasp let up a little and Tyrion continued spinning. While he was facing his back to Tristan, he threw his head backwards in an attack, kept moving counter-clockwise, thrust his elbow to where Tristan's gut should have been and then finished his circle with a open palm attack to Tristan's jaw. Not one of the attacks connected, save for his final one, as now Tristan held his wrist in his left hand. 

Tyrion spun his left foot around in a roundhouse at Tristan's right knee, hoping to gain release from his grasp. Tristan then, deciding that some impressive movements were required, raised his legs up above the attack, and began to hover mid air in a crouch, his arms spread out to the side. Once he saw that his opponent was floating, Tyrion slowly backed up, halted his attack, but did not let down his guard. He recognized the energy being given off. 

"Lifestream?" he asked, gasping for breath. "Then…you know Nisai Ryu?" Tristan was silent for a moment, not connecting that his use of Force Tech was being likened to something else. Relying on his ability to read people, though, he quickly came up with something. 

"I told you so," he said, not really knowing what he was referring to, finally dropping to the ground, his feet landing on the now dirtied tile floor. 

"Then you really are from Ithilmar," Tyrion said. He let down his guard. "I'm sorry," he said. "And you are obviously of a higher level than I," he admitted solemnly. He closed his eyes and bowed his head to Tristan. "Forgive my insolence, Master," he said respectfully. "I apologize for my rashness." 

Tristan took in the situation momentarily. Obviously, Tyrion was mistaking him for a member of his martial arts study, judging by the term 'Master.' He didn't know much about whatever form of combat this was, but he would at least make some use of it. He wondered for a moment about why he hadn't learned about this style of combat and that Tyrion was a practitioner of it earlier, but it was too late now. 

"So will you speak with me now?" Tristan said, also lowering his hands. 

"About what?" Tyrion asked. To be honest, Tristan didn't really know what to ask the kid about. All he really needed was a sample of his DNA to determine if he was a Planeswalker or not. The rest of the information he could get would just be a bonus. 

"How about we talk about why you're so jumpy," Tristan said, hoping Tyrion would lead him to something interesting. "What happened one week ago?" He was referring to the date on which the flux of Lavoid Energy was picked up. "I want to help." Tyrion sighed. 

"Come into the kitchen," he said. "I'll tell you all about it." 

. 

"So basically you don't know who's after you, and that's what it comes down to?" Tristan said, finally summing up Tyrion's story. 

"That's about it. I mean, wouldn't you be worried if this was happening to you?" 

"Oh, hell yeah," Tristan agreed. "Have you spoken to anyone about this?" 

"Only my girlfriend, Rachel," Tyrion said. Tristan was silent in thought for a minute. 

"Would you mind if I took a tissue sample from you?" he finally said. 

"What for?" 

"Because I think I might know why those men are after you," Tristan said, telling a part-truth. "If I can get some information from you, I can run it by in my lab and I'll get back to you." 

"What do you think it is?" Tyrion asked hesitantly. 

"I can't be sure yet," he lied. Tyrion blinked, and then nodded his head with a sigh. 

"Go for it," he said. Tristan reached into his coat and brought forth a small tubular device with a glistening metallic shell. A few small red lights illuminated it's surface. On the bottom, there was a small hole and a series of ridges running in concentric circles around the device. 

"What's that?" Tyrion said. 

"It's a device for taking a full-core sample," Tristan said. "Skin, muscle, blood, bone. All that good stuff." 

"Wouldn't that hurt?" Tyrion asked. 

"Nah," Tristan said. "It emits an energy pulse that deadens the nerves around the area while it works. It takes less then a second. I promise you won't even feel it." 

"I've never heard of anything like that," Tyrion said, a little worried. 

"It's an Ithilmar medical device," Tristan lied, knowing full well that it was a tool solely belonging to the LEA Medical Division. "We use them all the time. Could you roll up your sleeve?" he asked. 

As Tyrion began to roll up his sleeve, he looked at Tristan. "Why are you helping me?" he asked pleadingly. "I don't understand. What good am I to anyone?" 

"It's because your enemies might be making themselves enemies of us," Tristan said again in half-truth. "And if you are an enemy of my enemy, then you are, at the very least, partially my ally." He gritted his teeth and activated the device. As he said, the machine whirred softly as a magical pulse momentarily deadened the nerves in the area in Tyrion's forearm where he was sampling from. It was a good thing, too, because in a flash, a needle flicked out of the hole on the base of the machine, gathered its sample, and disappeared back into the cylinder. Before the wound could start to bleed, a secondary pulse wave caused instant clotting and formation of scar tissue. The entire process was then marked by the small dot of scar tissue on the inside of Tyrion's arm. 

"That's it?" Tyrion asked, surprised at the extreme simplicity of the operation. 

"That's it," Tristan said, putting the machine away and rising from his seat. He extended his hand. Tyrion looked at it for a moment before finally meeting it and shaking it. 

"Here," Tristan said, reaching into his jacket and producing a small white card. "Take this. Feel free to call me any time you want." He gave the card to Tyrion. On the card, it said simply, _Tristan Tenser_, and then below it, _Watcher_. On the base of the card, there was a thirteen digit number. 

"Thanks," Tyrion said, putting the card in his back pocket. "Is there…anything else?" he asked after a moment. 

"No," Tristan said. "I think we're done. Thank you for speaking to me." Tyrion led him to the front door. Tristan opened the door and began to step out. "And that girlfriend of yours," he said with one foot out the door. "Rachel, was it?" Tyrion nodded. "Check up on her, would you? If you told her what happened, you never know what trouble you might have brought her into." 

Tyrion didn't answer for a moment, instead, just looking at Tristan blankly. "Umm…yeah," he finally said. "Thanks. I will." 

"Watch yourself, Tyrion," Tristan said, leaving the house. Walking into the street, he casually strolled along, waiting until he was out of site before he began to teleport back towards his ship to check his new information. 

"Maybe I should check up on her," Tyrion said, heading back into the house. "She's probably worried that I didn't call." Closing the door, he headed to the kitchen to reach the phone. 

. 

Outside Garden City. 

Tristan was back at his ship in about 20 minutes, as it proved hard to find a decent place where he could teleport and not be seen. Back in the lab in his ship, he deposited the entire metal test cylinder into a machine and it began to buzz. The machine, like everything else in the lab, was silvery metallic in color. The floors and walls, starched white, and the equipment, stainless steel, were the stereotypical coloring of an LEA lab. 

When the test results were in, there was a high pitched ping. When Tristan walked over to it, he touched a small button and the information from the test was displayed on a large computer screen mounted on the wall of the lab. 

"Well son of a bitch…" Tristan commented as he surveyed the data. In an instant, he was in the main cockpit, calling the Weatherlight. The communications officer patched him through to Jack, who was in one of the data libraries at the time. 

"It's a match," he said. "He's one of them." 

"What data matches up?" Jack said calmly, temporarily ignoring what he was doing. 

"Everything," Tristan said. "You name it, it matches the criteria we set to determine what makes one." 

"All the differences from a normal human, then?" 

"Muscle density is six times standard. Bone density is ten times standard. The differences in his hemoglobin matches. The blood composition matches yours, and most importantly, the Lavoid Factor is there. 

"You tested his DNA, too, then?" 

"Yeah. The Lavoid Factor Genomes are all where they're supposed to be. Interestingly enough, the Factor matches yours identically. Didn't we originally hypothesize that the Factors would be marginally different in each one?" 

"Originally, yes," Jack said. "Interesting indeed. Perhaps we were wrong to assume that they would hold the same minor differences that the Lavoids that we've killed have held. Perhaps there's a specific set of the factor created solely for Planeswalker offspring?" 

"Or perhaps what you two possess is more of an 'orignal' Lavoid factor. Still, it would make sense if the Lavoid Factors matched that of their parent Lavoids, rather than that of other Planeswalkers." 

"Have you checked the entire strain?" 

"Not completely. I'm judging on outward appearance." 

"Make sure you run a scan on all the Factor Genomes and match them up to mine. If there is a difference, we should know it. That way, we might be able to determine the genetic makeup of his parent Lavoid." 

"I'll get on it right away." 

"Keep in touch, Tristan," Jack said. Then, he cut off communications and went back to what he was reading before. The title of what he was reading simply read, "Chaos." 

. 

Garden City Suberbs 

Tyrion walked back into the house after the man with the black trench coat had left. He still didn't know if he could trust him, even if he was a member of the Nisai Ryu. Maybe he shouldn't have let him poke him with that machine, either. Dumbly, he rubbed the small scar on his forearm. He would have to call Rachel. Tristan had been right. She might be in trouble, now. 

Walking into the kitchen again, he grabbed the phone and sat down on one of the chairs, placing his feet up on the table and reclining. Dialing Rachel's number, he took a deep breath. The phone rang on the other end and he was very happy when met by the sound of her voice. 

"Hello?" Rachel asked. 

"It's me," Tyrion said simply. 

"Tyrion!?" she exclaimed. "Where were you last night? You said you'd come over." 

"I fell asleep writing my paper. I'm sorry." 

"I missed you. It was boring without you." 

"I know. I'm sorry." 

"Well, then…I guess it's okay," she said. "Will you at least come over some time today? We have to make up for lost time." 

"Yeah, I'll come over in a bit. Just talk to me, for now, though." 

"Why?" 

"I like to hear your voice." 

"Aw, that's sweet, but is something wrong?" 

"No." 

"You're lying." 

"Yes." 

"What happened?" 

"It's…okay. Something happened. Another man made contact with me today. He claimed he was from Ithilmar." 

"What did you do?" 

"I spoke with him." 

"Why?" 

"Because…he knew Nisai Ryu. I tried to fight him, when he came inside, but you should have seen him. Everything I did, he blocked. All my attacks, no matter how fast they went. He was good. Faster than me. I haven't had someone faster than me in awhile." 

"And then what happened?" 

"Well, I let him in, and I spoke to him. I guess it was a matter of respect for a superiorly ranked member of the Nisai Ryu. I suspect I couldn't of fought him off if I had tried. He was far to strong." 

"So what did you talk about?" 

"He…knew that people were after me. He said he might know why. He took a sample of my tissue." 

"Are you okay? I was worried that something bad had happened when you didn't call last night. I didn't expect anything had happened this morning." 

"Yeah…well….Rachel, has anyone tried to speak with you recently? Someone that you don't know, maybe?" 

"I don't think so. Not since you saw me last, anyway. Do you think I'm in trouble?" she asked almost comically. 

"I don't know." 

"I can fend for myself, Tyrion. This is a safe town. I don't think I need to worry about anyone breaking into my house and pinning me down and talking to me. You worry about yourself. In fact, I'm coming over right now. We can– " Something cut her off. 

"Rachel?" 

"What the?" came her voice, but it wasn't being directed to the phone. Almost as if she was holding the phone down by her waist. 

"Rachel?!" he asked again. Then his heart jumped up to his throat. 

"AHH~!" Came a blood curdling scream from the other side of the line. 

"Rachel!!" he demanded this time, but her end of the line was quickly disconnected and he was met with an answer in the bitter form of a dial tone. "Mother fucker!" he yelled, dropping the phone and sprinting to the front door. Nearly ripping it off its hinges as he opened it, he bolted out of the house, down the steps and into his car. In an instant, the engine roared loudly before he snapped it into reverse and it swerved out of the driveway. He shifted the car into gear and he peeled out before sending it screaming down the street, the smell of burned rubber the only thing left behind him. 

. 

_"It didn't surprise me that they would go to her. I mean, hell, that's what I would have done if I was in their shoes. It's the way the game is played."_ –Tristan Tenser 


	5. The First Casualty

**Chapter 4**

**The First Casualty**

By the time Tyrion got there, it was too late. He was about half an hour's drive to Rachel's house. He had been the first person on the scene, and had called the police and an ambulance, but it wouldn't have done any good. She was dead before he even got there. He didn't even get to speak to her again. When the paramedics arrived, they found him hunched over her limp body, crying. 

Tyrion was no crime scene investigator, but he knew what gun shot wounds looked like. There were a lot of them, riddling her midsection. Her blood was all over her bedroom, signs of a brutal murder. Whoever had done this to her would pay. He would make sure of that. 

Within an hour, police had the house surrounded and taped off, and people filled the place, checking the scene and asking questions. Tyrion himself received far to many of these questions, as far as he was concerned. 

"How long had you known the victim? Did she have any enemies? Do you know what might have prompted this?" Tyrion didn't mentioned that Tristan had warned him to check up on her. He was, however, certain that this had something to do with the people who had been after him. She probably knew too much. But then, how deep did their information go? Had his phone been bugged? How else would they have known some of the things he had told her? 

People bustled around all afternoon, as Tyrion sulked on one of the steps in the main stairway, wondering why this had happened to him, and why it had happened to Rachel. It wasn't until about 3:30 that things began to die down and an investigator finally came to explain to him what they think had happened. 

"You were the boyfriend, right?" was the first thing the man had said. Tyrion just nodded weakly. "I'm Inspector Stevens." He casually reached to shake Tyrion's hand but Tyrion didn't move. 

"What killed her, inspector?" he asked. "How did she die?" 

"We're trying to figure that out, son. I can tell you what we do know. Judging from some aberrations on her body, and some torn clothing that we found, it looks like there was definite sign of a struggle. It doesn't look like she died right away." 

"What happened? 

"We found some bludgeon marks on her head and shoulders. It looks like they hit her a few times. She was shot five times in the midsection, and then once in the head. She was bleeding from multiple places, so she would have died of blood loss anyway." Tyrion's eyes watered up and the Inspector gave him a moment before speaking again. "Can I ask you a difficult question?" the Inspector finally said. 

"Okay…" Tyrion sobbed. 

"Did you have intercourse with the victim within the last few days?" Tyrion looked at him for a few seconds before shaking his head. 

"Don't tell me…" 

"We found traces of semen around her genitalia, and there were more aberrations on her wrists and ankles." He paused for a second. "It looks like she was tied down and raped before she was killed." Tyrion choked. Tears began to stream slowly down his face and he sat in silence for nearly a minute. 

"I…" he started to say, wiping his eyes clear and halting his sobbing. "Rather…who?" The inspector was about to speak when Tyrion heard a familiar voice from the door. 

"My name is Agent Kallar from the FIB," the voice said to the guard who was standing at the front door. "I'm here on orders from the government." 

"Go right on in, Agent Kallar," Tyrion heard the guard say as he stepped out of the way and the familiar form of Agent Kallar walked into the house. He was clad in all black, and wore a black military beret which he removed as he entered the house. He surveyed the situation for a second, instantly spotting Tyrion on the stairs in front of him and walking up to the youth. 

"I think this man can answer that question," Inspector Stevens said as Agent Kallar approached him. "This is–" he started to introduce the man but Tyrion cut him off. 

"We've met," Tyrion said, rising up cautiously, wiping the remaining tears away from his eyes. He looked at Kallar. "Then you really do work for Lyons…" he said. 

"I'll leave you two alone," Inspector Stevens said, heading out the door, back to his original business. 

"I told you so," Kallar said. 

"And that other man that came after me?" 

"A Denegrad Agent," Kallar lied. "We apprehended him after you had dealt him a few blows." 

"I remember," Tyrion said. "But what are you doing here?" he asked, his sudden nervousness overriding his sorrow at the moment. 

"We have reason to believe this may be an international crime," Kallar said. "Please, follow me." Kallar walked up the stairs into Rachel's bedroom, where all the commotion was. There were still a few people bustling about, scraping blood samples off the walls and collecting small samples of whatnot into plastic bags. Kallar walked over to a small table where there were some bullets contained in said plastic bags. They were shots that had missed their mark, having been discovered in various locations that didn't include Rachel's body. 

"Have a look," Kallar said, removing one of the bullets from its bag with a pair of tweezers that he took from the table. He held it up to the light and showed Tyrion. "Do you see these markings?" he asked. "The small gold tinted ring around the base of the bullet and the small streak down the side where the seam is?" 

"Yeah," Tyrion said, "What about it?" 

"These bullets are Denegrad issue," he said. "And the marks in the carpet?" he pointed to the impressions in the carpet that had been circled in tape. "Those are made by boots that are standard issue to the Denegrad military." Tyrion looked at him for a moment. 

"What does that mean?" he asked. 

"My guess?" Kallar said. "They were looking for you. She probably got in the way." 

"Watch your mouth," Tyrion said bitterly. "Her name was Rachel." 

"I'm sorry," Kallar said. "Rachel probably got in the way," he corrected himself. Tyrion was silent again. 

"So you think the Denegrad military was responsible for her death?" he asked, biting his lip. Kallar nodded. Tyrion furrowed his brow. "How do I get back at the sons of bitches?" he asked coldly. Kallar started to grin, but held it back. 

"Do you want to get back at them?" Kallar asked. 

"I do," Tyrion said bitterly. Kallar closed his eyes and pulled a small card out of his coat. 

"Be here tomorrow at 12:00," he said, handing him the card. The card simply said _ Garden Skyport, Terminal 8._

"And then what?" 

"And then you can get them back," Kallar said, as he started to walk away. 

"What did you come here for?" Tyrion asked him quickly. He turned back. 

"To give you what you want," he said cryptically. He eyed Tyrion before spinning around and going back down the stairs, exiting the house. 

"How odd…" Tyrion said out loud. "How odd indeed." 

. 

Elsewhere… 

With nothing to do but more reading, Tristan had retired to his ship, hoping that Tyrion would call eventually. He knew it probably wouldn't happen, and that he would have to intervene some other way, but there was no hurt in hoping. Explaining to people that they are actually the son of an a species that spends its free time nuking planets isn't easy. In fact, he had never actually had to do it before. This was the first time he would actually have to explain the truth about the Planeswalkers to someone. 

Normally, recruits from the LEA came from planets that were classified as L3, meaning that a Lavoid had landed, hibernated and then surfaced, making it's attack. In fact, recruits always came from planets of this classification. There were two beneficial parts to this. Firstly, there was no doubt that something had happened, as a Lavoid Surfacing is not something that you miss. People were looking for explanations anyway, and so the intervention of a Watcher was most welcome at this time. 

The second reason was that they were already psychologically prepared to go to war against the Lavoids. Simply because the average death rate of a Lavoid Surfacing is about 90% of a planet's population, it is a statistical improbability for one to not lose loved ones in the event of a Lavoid attack. Therefore, the desire for revenge is always there. 

So, the Watchers provided an explanation and a means to deal with the problem. In times of distress, this is what people are looking for, and so recruitment had never been that complicated before. Now, there was nothing to really explain, and there was no problem to deal with. All Tristan could really hope to do was give him a means to deal with whatever problems he had. It would come down to the Lavoid eventually, and then things would be clear. But, in the mean time, he needed to be merely a Guardian. Tyrion would need help eventually, and he would be there when it happened. Then he could worry about recruitment. 

In the mean time, though, he would have a field day with this new genetic material. This was the first time that any of the LEA's scientists had access to the Lavoid Factor from two different Planeswalkers, and so it was something to be excited about. Not only that, but he had already discovered an interesting difference between the two sets of Lavoid Factors. 

While the LEA had originally expected more to differ between the sets, the minor difference still proved to be most interesting. In total, there were two genome structures that differed from Jack's Factor. At the moment, Tristan only knew what one of them meant, though. This four gene set was isolated as that governing Magical Ability through determining the Base Energy Stock modifier that seems to be present in all Lavoids. Partially responsible for the tremendous amount of tolerance for Ether-type energies, it also seemed to have a bearing on general aptitude with Magic. Tyrion, however, did not have the same gene set. While the meaning of this could not be analyzed before Tristan received combat data, he expected a difference between the magical abilities of the two Planeswalkers. 

The second gene set that differed served one of the many unknown functions that the Lavoid Factor presented. Tristan had hypothesized that is had more to do with energy tolerance, or was part of the much larger genome which controlled the Black Wings, but it was mostly just guesswork. 

While trying to decipher the exact differences between these two gene sets, Tristan was rudely interrupted with a phone call. Nearly answering the phone with a curt, 'I'm busy,' he was pleasantly surprised when he found that it was Tyrion who called him. 

"Tristan," he said. "I…figured I should call you." 

"What's up?" Tristan asked, trying to stay casual. 

"They…" he stuttered. "They killed her." 

"Oh God…" Tristan mumbled. "Rachel?" 

"Yeah," Tyrion said. "They think it was the Denegrad Military." 

"Did they tell you why?" Tristan asked. "Who told you that? Who came to speak with you?" He quickly rummaged through his coat and took out a pen and paper, ready to get a hold of whatever was going on. 

"That Agent from Lyons. Kallar. He came. He really does work for the Lyons Government." 

"What did he tell you?" 

"He pointed to the evidence showing that it was a Denegrad crime," Tyrion said. Something about that sounded odd, though. Tristan had read up on Denegrad. Judging from battle reports, their military was way to smart to make something obvious like that, unless they wanted it to be seen. But, why would they want it to be seen? 

"Tyrion," Tristan continued, still formulating ideas. "Did Kallar come to offer you something? A position in the military perhaps?" 

"Actually…yeah, he did," Tyrion said. 

_ Crap_, Tristan thought. _Lyons is after him. I bet they planned the murder themselves. Or at least, this Kallar guy is bad. I wonder who he really works for._

"Are you meeting him to discuss it?" Tristan finally said. 

"Tomorrow," Tyrion said. "I'm going with him tomorrow." 

"Tyrion," Tristan said. "This is of utmost importance. Tell me where you're meeting him. If we can trust him, it's okay, but if it's a trick, I'll need to be able to protect you." 

"I can take care of myself," Tyrion said, somewhat superciliously. 

"Don't be naïve, Tyrion. This isn't a game." There was a pause. Tyrion sighed deeply. 

"Garden Skyport," he said reluctantly. "Hanger 8." 

"I'm just going to be there to watch your back, Tyrion," Tristan said. 

"Just don't get to close," Tyrion responded. "This might be what I want." 

"And assuming it isn't, you'll need my help." Again, Tyrion was silent. 

"…Thank you," he finally said right before he hung up the phone. 

_ Silly kid…_ Tristan thought. _Don't let your pride get the best of you. Don't let revenge get the best of you, either. It's funny, though. It didn't surprise me that they would go to her. I mean, hell, that's what I would have done if I was in their shoes. It's the way the game is played. It just sucks that someone had to die. But, in a terrible way of thinking, this might have been just what we needed…_

. 

Garden City Skyport, the next day, 

The Garden Skyport was probably one of the most architecturally interesting buildings in Garden City. It hugged nicely along the edge of the western wall, where a large bulge in the wall protruded to accommodate it. It was comprised of a series of large circular buildings, numbering three in total, each housing a number of terminals. It wasn't that there were many airlines to choose from. In fact, there were only three, all of which were government sponsored. Two existed for national flights, and the other for international flights. 

Hanger 8 was one of four sets of five launching points within the International Flights building. It was different, however, because it was normally used for private affairs, segmented somewhat off from the rest of the building. This way, the hanger could basically be sealed off, making security tightest for keeping out unwanted guests. Even more typically, though, because it was for international flights, it was used under military supervision. After all, Lyons Citizens didn't normally go sight seeing in Denegrad. Most of the civilian flights were to points outside of the three superpowers of Lyons, Denegrad and Ithilmar. 

Tyrion didn't really know this. He had never been in Hanger 8 before, mostly because of these security features. Thusly, he was a little disturbed when he had to pass through not only the standard metal detectors, but x ray security systems. There were armed guards everywhere he looked, lining the cold, white corridors. 

There was one feeling of openness in the building, which was the large circular room that spread out into the five launch points within the hanger. It was a multi-terraced room with large quantities of plant-life adorning a central feature of a large fountain. Around the edge of the room, there were the typical fast food joints found in any such a place, accompanied by various shops. The armed guards were still all there, though, and there were security cameras abound. 

Tyrion met Agent Kallar at the designated time on Sunday, in the main check in room for international flights. Kallar had been clad in what looked to be his standard black, this time in a suit and tie. 

"Right on time," Kallar said as Tyrion walked up to him carrying the sole bag that he had packed for his 'trip.' 

"Can you tell me where we're going yet?" Tyrion asked, somewhat impatiently. "You've yet to give me a destination." 

"All in time, Tyrion," Kallar said. "Just follow me." He reached into his jacket and withdrew a ticket, handing it to Tyrion. 

"Okay," Tyrion shrugged, not really caring. That was just how he felt since yesterday. He just didn't really care. A sense of apathy over everything seemed to be consuming him. He just wanted to release his anger on someone, and those responsible for Rachel's death seemed like the best idea. What Tristan had told him only loomed in the back of his head. 

Taking the ticket, Tyrion began to follow Kallar down a series of corridors, speaking to him as he went. "You're looking for a chance to enlist, correct?" 

"I want to fight, yes," Tyrion said. 

"Well, then you're going to enlist with the best of the best," he said, as they continued walked. "What do you know about M-1?" he asked. 

"Not much. I know they fight with Lyons against Denegrad, and that they've helped change the course of the war." 

"They're a mercenary group," Kallar said. "They are basically a group of elite mercs that showed up and offered services to Lyons, the side which needed the help. Their military abilities turned the course of the war, Tyrion." 

"Are you saying that M-1 wants me?" 

"Haven't I told you that from the beginning?" Kallar asked. "That your country needed people like you to fight for them?" 

"But why?" 

"What does the 'why' matter?" Kallar asked. "Isn't the 'how' more important. It's a means to an end, Tyrion. It's the means to the ends that you want. Don't worry about the 'why,' but the 'how' and the 'when.' That's what I'm giving you. A 'how' and a 'when.'" Tyrion was silent. They continued their walking without conversation until they came to a waiting room for Gates 12 through 16. 

"Our flight leaves in about two hours," Kallar said. 

"Then why did you make me come so soon." 

"The time delay is required for international flights." 

"International?" 

"You didn't notice? This is an international hanger." 

"Where are we going?" he asked again. 

"All in time," Kallar said before sitting in one of the many chairs, crossing his arms and closing his eyes. 

"My ass…" Tyrion mumbled under his breath. "This better be good…" 

. 

"I've got a trace on that plane," Tristan said into the phone. "I'm probably going to go after it." Tristan was standing on the corner of a main avenue in Garden City. In the distance, the large Skyport loomed into the horizon, and an image of a plane taking off or landing could be periodically spotted. 

"Do you know where it's going?" the voice of Jack asked, though some static due to unusual disturbance clouded the clarity of his speech. 

"I'm hacking the information as we speak," he said, hitting a few buttons on his hand held computer. 

"Why not just track the ship and follow it in your own?" Jack said. "Wouldn't that be the most effective way?" 

"This is why…" Tristan said, finally getting the information he needed. "Because of their course." 

"What do you mean." 

"It looks like they pass through some sort of image shielding device about an hour after take off. It's marked here on the map I have." 

"Meaning?" 

"Meaning I wouldn't be able to follow them. Judging by the readout on the shield, tracking them would be difficult afterward. Also, I'd rather not get into a dog fight yet. I'm going to put that off until later." 

"Will your own ship be able to trace you?" 

"I'm going to try to board their ship. This data says it takes off in about half an hour. As for if I can get the Intrepid to trace my own location after I pass the shield, that's a different story. I'd be a better of judge of that after I'm passed it." 

"So how are you going to get on their plane?" 

"The same way I do everything." 

"Oh no…" Jack muttered. 

"Yup. I'm going in head long, guns blazing." 

"Don't get yourself killed, Tristan." 

"Hey, have I ever in the past?" 

"No," he admitted. "But good luck only lasts so long." 

"Gotcha. Over and out boss." He hung up the phone, replaced his computer in his coat, and scanned the area in front of him to get a visual lock on for teleporting. Then, it was only a matter of time. 

. 

Inside the Garden City Skyport 

Tristan walked into the main registration building of the Skyport with a confident surveying of the scene. It was simple enough. There was one long set of counter space, broken only in three places where passengers walked past the check in to one of the other three main sections of the air port. Past each gate, there would be a few short passages before one entered the main hanger area for each of the three main hangers. 

The main problem, of course, would be getting past the metal detectors that flanked each of the three gates. In truth, it wouldn't actually be a problem, as Tristan merely stepped into a phone booth and activated a cloaking device. Then exiting the booth, he strolled casually up to the gate. With a burst of Force Tech energy, he quickly sped through the gate in a blur, lucky that no one was in the way. While the detector went off, the guards only provided Tristan with a few moments of entertainment as they tried to figure out why the machine had gone off 'without anything going through it.' 

Chuckling to himself, he continued forward, maintaining his invisibility. His chuckling quickly ceased, though, when an alarm began to go off through the entire compound. Red lights began to flash and the strident cry of a bell started to wring. 

"Shit…" Tristan muttered. "So much for subtle…" Keeping his cloak on, he reached into his coat and brought forth his pair of silver magnums and went into a sprint towards the hanger that Tyrion was supposedly in. He was miserably surprised, however, to find that the armed guards, that were everywhere once he entered the main circular area with the fountain, must have been using some sort of inferred goggles, as the hail of fire in his direction signified that they saw where he was. 

Tristan growled again, turning off the cloaking device after he dove behind a large pillar for cover. He checked the chambers in both of his guns before readying them. Deeply concentrating, he stretched his consciousness out to sense where the guards were. There were about 20 of them, all over the three levels of the main concourse. As statistics dictated that the ones on the lower levels would have a better angle of fire and therefore a better chance to hit, so they would have to go first. 

Before he could do anything, though, his cover had to be secured. He sensed out all electrical equipment in the room and sent a blast of lightning magic through them. Explosions ran throughout the room as all semblances of cameras and most other forms of electronics blew up. 

Spinning out from behind the pillar, he leveled the two guns toward the group of three guards that was across from him. He ran sideways toward the pillar on his left firing four rounds and hitting once. As he reached the next pillar, he began to run up it sideways, loosing more rounds, downing another guard, and beginning a side flip to the right. As he was upside down, he finally locked on to the last guard, felling him with two shots to the head. He landed on his feet again and looked to his right. 

There were a group of four more guards, readying their guns at him. Above him, guards were beginning to rush down to the lower levels. Tristan made a break for the fountain in the center, firing four more rounds, one for each of the guards on his right. While unable to kill them all, he managed to disable two of them and kill a third as he finished off the ammo in his magnums and slid into cover using the fountain. 

Crouching behind the fountain and looking back towards the main entrance, he could see more guards coming his way down the hall. He drew an automatic rifle and stayed behind the fountain. From a crouch, he aimed the rifle and sprayed fire down the hallway at the oncoming men, aiming at the legs. Still under cover from the rear, he managed to disable the coming swarm, at least for the moment anyway. 

As he finished with the eight or so guards that had been making their way down the main tunnel, he dropped the emptied machine gun on the floor and flew upwards. Pulling out the fusion gun, the familiar device morphed in his hands into its full form. Then, aiming at the set of pillars buttressing the upper levels on his right. Pulling the trigger, the heat beam shot forth and he waved it from left to right, vaporizing each of the supports. The upper levels came crashing down, taking the soldiers on them down as well. He then turned back to the main entrance and fired a shot at the area above the gate. As the heat tore through the concrete wall, it crumbled to the floor, blocking the main entrance. 

Turning his attention over to the left, he re-sheathed the fusion gun and brought out another set of pistols. He flew over to the second level on the left side. Landing behind the group of men there, he caught them off guard and quickly dispatched them. Up the stairs to his left came more assailants, but he sped towards them in a serpentine blur, sheathing his pistols. Smashing the first one across the face with a spinning kick, he sent him twirling to the ground as he snatched his rifle from his hands. Spinning around and confusing the remaining guards with the upward flare of his trench coat, he fired the gun on them, felling them all with a 15 round burst. 

Throwing the empty gun over the side of the terrace, he sprinted in the other direction, up the stairs, towards Tyrion's gate. Two more men spotted him and level their guns in his direction, but they were to slow for his super-human reaction time. He cast a phase spell, a distortion of magical fields so that his body 'skipped' to another location nearby. He phased-in in front of the guard on the left. Swinging his right hand upward, he knocked the gun out of the guard's hands and grabbed it out of the air, aiming it into his back and firing. Looking at the other guard, his right leg shot out in a kick to the mid section, causing the guard to double over. Then, he brought the right leg around the guard in a circle, bringing his heal down on the man's back, snapping it outright. 

He brought up the pistols again, aiming them upwards as he reached the third terraced level, but it looked as if the conflict had ended for the time being. He wasn't sure what he would do now, though, as he exited the main circular room, leaving it crumbling apart behind him. 

The next passage was long and straight and soon opened up into the waiting area that Tyrion would have been in, if he hadn't been hurried onto the plane mere minutes before. The red lights were still flashing and he could see out the window that a plane was leaving the gate and taxing onto the run way. 

"Oh no you don't!" Tristan yelled, powering up his Force energy and ramming through the wall with his shoulder as he flew out towards the plane. He could now see it turning to reach the strip of runway it would use to take off. Speeding forward, he flew towards it, glancing into the cockpit. Grinning like an idiot, he waved at the startled pilots. 

In response, the plane banked to the right and began to speed up, but Tristan was not to be shaken that easily. Looking into the cockpit he gained a quick visual reference before teleporting into it. Then there was a short click as he cocked a pistol and held it closely to the back of the pilot's head. 

"If you want to keep your brain, just keep flying," he said coldly. The guard reached for a button to alert the people in the plane, but Tristan would have none of that. He slapped him across the back of the head. "Didn't you hear me, moron?" he said, laughing and replacing the gun against the pilot's head. "I'm gonna fucking shoot you if you screw around. It's not that complicated, and you certainly don't need a college degree to handle it. Just fly the fucking plane." The pilot, beginning to sweat profusely, shakily nodded his head. Tristan shot a glance at the copilot. 

"And don't you try anything either, Skippy. I've got more than enough ammo in here to kill you too." The copilot merely sat back in his seat nodded his head over and over. 

"Now," Tristan said. "I want you to just fly this plane where you were going to fly it and don't worry about me. If you understand, then nod." The pilot nodded and Tristan grinned in victory. "Good, and then if you're lucky, I'll let you live!" 

"You're gonna kill us even if we do what you say?!" the copilot whimpered. 

"Calm down, Skippy," Tristan said, laughing. "I'm only kidding. Jesus Christ, relax, will you? Can't anyone on this plane take a joke?" Both pilots were silent, and they continued to fly, leading the Watcher to wherever Tyrion was being taken. 

. 

_"Tristan's problem was that you can only fool so many people for so long. It's a mistake to think that you can allude such governments for an extended period of time, especially after you've killed so many people. In looking back, though, I think it was just his own ego that he was looking to satiate." –_Sarah Inverse McKlane, in regard to the Celes Incident


	6. Newly Enlisted

**Chapter 5**

**Newly Enlisted**

Tristan was unable to get a visual image of where they had flown. As they approached the image-shielding device that he had described to Jack, a few things happened. First, the flight cabin lights went out and metal plates slid down over the cockpit windows. Next, the plane went into slave-guidance, meaning it was driven from another location. The ride became somewhat unsteady as the plane was pulled into wherever they were going. That, and before they had passed the image shield, nothing could be seen of their location. 

It was probably a military installation, more than likely the Headquarters of M-1, as M-1 supposedly wanted Tyrion's capture. That would be the only possible explanation of their location. How Lyons or Kallar was involved was another story, and Tristan would have to play spy for just a little longer. The problem was staying undetected. Again, you can fool government for a period of time, but when you start causing major problems, no invisible agent can stay invisible forever. Chances are, they were looking for him already, considering the show he put on in the airport. The only thing he had left going for him was that they still didn't know what he looked like, or at least, he hoped they didn't. 

Also, he could beat the Lyons Government for awhile, mostly due to his highly superior technology. If Ithilmar needed to be evaded, however, there may be some problems. If they really did use Lavoid Energy, his connection to it might be able to be detected, and that, to say the least, would be a bad thing. 

He wasn't even sure if they had landed anywhere. For all he knew, they could be in the air, on the ground in Denegrad, or even in Ithilmar. What he did know was that the plane had come to a stop, and he would have to make himself scarce relatively soon. 

"Thanks a lot, pals," he said to the pilots, sheathing his gun and waving his hand in the air. "Don't follow me now, ya' hear?" He quickly cast a short-range phase spell, disappearing from the cockpit and finding himself under the jet. It was dark, but he could tell that they were in some kind of hanger. Again, the question of where came to mind, but a little exploration had never hurt him in the past. 

The pilots responded as he would have predicted. Jumping out of their seats and ignoring their freshly watered pants, they exploded through the cockpit door and into the cabin. 

"Intruders on the plane!" the both yelled in unison. In the cabin, Kallar sat across from Tyrion, and there were a few other armed men wearing black uniforms and black berets. 

"What?" Kallar said, rising from his seat. "Why didn't you tell us sooner?!" 

"He had a gun," the pilot gibbered. "He said he would shoot us." 

"Fool!" Kallar yelled, rushing into the flight cabin to check for remains of the intruder, but finding none. 

"What did he look like?" Tyrion said, slowly rising from his seat as well. "Did either of you get a good look at him?" 

"He had a trench-coat," the copilot said. "And…long blonde hair. That's all I remember." 

"That's all I needed to hear…" Tyrion mumbled. 

"Do you know who he is?" Kallar asked, turning to Tyrion. 

"No," Tyrion said quietly. "No, not at all." Kallar didn't see it fit to waste time. He whipped out a phone. 

"We've got a problem," he said into the phone. "There's an intruder in the compound," he said. "Apprehend, but do not kill. Suspect is male, long blonde hair, and a…" he turned to the copilot. "What color was his trench-coat?" 

"Black," the both said. Kallar nodded. 

"He's wearing a black trench-coat," he said into the phone. "I want to meet with him personally if you find him. Again, apprehend, but do not kill." He hung up the phone bitterly, placing it back in his jacket pocket. 

"Now what?" Tyrion asked. 

"Now nothing," Kallar said. "He'll be caught before long. It's not our job to worry about him until they find him." 

"You're not going to worry that he's running around." 

"_I'm_ not going to. Someone else will. That's their job. I'm just doing mine. Now, follow me, and I'll explain things a little more." 

. 

Tristan had very little time to do what he had to do. The only actual way to secure his safety was to eliminate the existence of his persona as a threat. Basically, the 'intruder' aspect of him had to disappear, and the easiest way to do something like this is take advantage of the fact that everything in a high tech society is computerized. 

Computers are a wonderful thing. People use them day in and day out to make their lives easier. People like Tristan, on the other hand, use them day in and day out to make other people's lives harder, and their own jobs easier. 

He had found hiding in a particularly lonely section of the hanger. It was a little alcove which looked like no one every used, set about three feet into the wall. The important part was that it was somewhere that he could broadcast his hacking signal from, and begin to wreak havoc on the compound he was somewhat imprisoned in for the moment. It wasn't that hard for one person to disappear… 

. 

"We're hiring you," Kallar said to Tyrion as they walked down the hall. They were accompanied by the same armed men that they were on the plane with as they made their way down a hall felt that as cold as the stainless steal walls that it was made up of. Every hall they went down was absolutely straight, and every turn was a right angle. It only increased the feelings of apathy towards the individual spirit that a military compound seems to propagate anyway. 

"What?" Tyrion asked. 

"M-1 is hiring you." 

"Why?" 

"Haven't we been over this before?" 

"Yes. But that doesn't change the fact that it doesn't make sense." 

"We're looking for people like you. We're aiming to increase our ranks. Every military organization has to make up for natural casualties due to battle. We work on a recruitment system only, though." 

"And you found me how?" 

"We have our ways," Kallar said. "But it doesn't make a difference. At the moment, you're going to meet the people you'll be working with." 

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Tyrion said, halting his walk. "I never remembered committing to anything." 

"You will, though," Kallar said coldly, not even looking at him. "In fact, to yourself, you already have. You feel that anger, that desire for revenge burning up inside you. We're giving you the means to an end, and you've already taken the offer." 

"Don't think I'm so transparent," Tyrion said bitterly. "You don't know me well enough to make assumptions like that." 

"You'd be surprised, Tyrion," Kallar said. "Now, do you wish to meet your partner. I admit, she can be difficult to get on with at times, but there's no one who you'd rather have watching your back." 

"Get on with it," Tyrion said with a sigh. "I'm following you, now." 

They continued down the hallway that they were in, passing through multiple automatic doors until they came into another hanger-like room. It was about five stories high and the size of a football field. The walls were the same stainless steal that the rest of the compound was made of, occasionally broken by a blinking red or green light. There were no ships or planes in it, though. The one most noticeable feature of the room was the series of racks that held hundreds of things Tyrion had never seen before. They looked like robots that were the size of a man. What he didn't know, however, was that every single one of those shells was hallow, and could hold a man inside, making him a walking death machine. 

Armours. Hundreds of them. Judging by the similar color pattern groupings, he guessed they were organized into their different units while stored. He had never seen an Armour before, though he heard enough about them. They didn't allow the media to publicize battlefield action as it was a government censorship rule. It was something about promoting violence amongst young people. His attention, however, was quickly overcome by something new. 

"What the bloody hell is the matter with you?!!" came a scream that filled the entire hanger. He didn't know where it came from, but something told him that he didn't want to find out. Tyrion froze in his tracks, as did Kallar. Kallar held his hand out, to further exemplify that they shouldn't go any further. 

"_He_ gets to pilot it! After all of this time! You give it to him!? I swear to God, you picked the _wrong_ day to get on my bad side." 

Tyrion looked at Kallar. "Who is that?" he asked. 

"That…is your partner." 

"She sounds nasty," Tyrion said. 

"Lina Esrevni," Kallar said. "She's got a hair trigger temper, a bad attitude and gets way to much of a high from blowing things up. But, she's also one of the most powerful psychics in the world, let alone for her age." 

"How old is she?" 

"Seventeen." 

"And why is she so powerful?" 

"She has something called Tri-Psych. More than you might suspect, people are born with psychic powers. However, normally, it's one of the three branches of this power. Telekinesis, Telepathy or Telenthalpy. Lina is a rare occurrence of all three abilities in the same person." 

"So what does that mean she can do?" Tyrion asked. Kallar walked forward a few steps. 

"It means that she can kick your ass up and down the street if you don't watch out. Now, follow me. You two should be introduced." Tyrion shrugged and followed him as he walked through the hanger. 

"Lina!" he called as they walked around one of the Armour racks and came into view of a group of people gathered around one Armour that had been taken down from its storage location and was being examined. Among them, a girl, no more than five foot two, turned around. 

"Kallar?" the girl called. "What the hell are you doing here? Can't you see I'm busy?" She walked up to Agent Kallar and Tyrion. It was here where Tyrion made a better first impression of the girl. She walked almost rigidly upright, shoulders back, and head up. Though, aside from a very military like gait, she didn't look like a soldier. She was short, skinny and would look even fragile if not for her style of walking. Her arms were very slender and they looked like they could not handle lifting heavy objects, let alone being a dangerous member of a military unit. She was wearing a skin tight jumpsuit of blue, gold and silver. An equipment belt hung loosely from her waist. The most noticeable features, though, was that she had long, blue hair and amethyst eyes, almost the exact shades as Tyrion's. 

"This is Tyrion," Kallar said. "He's your new partner." 

"Haven't we had this conversation before?" Lina said, somewhat sarcastically. "I thought we decided I didn't need a partner." 

"_You_ decided that, Lina," Kallar said. "The Command didn't agree." Lina walked up to them and halted in front of them. 

"I still think I don't need him," she said, looking him up and down. "He looks like a chump. And what's with that hair?" 

"It's the same color as-" Tyrion started to say, but she cut him off. 

"What, are you a Son of Geminus, or something? Guys don't have blue hair, and it's not even a good dye job." 

"Now look here!" Tyrion started to say. 

"He'll slow me down," Lina said to Kallar. "Look at him. He's all hot and bothered already." 

"You little-" 

"Enough!" Kallar yelled. "Lina, I hate to say it, but you don't have a choice in the matter. Please keep this guy out of the infirmary, unlike the last one." 

"The last what?!" Tyrion asked, turning to Kallar. 

"My last partner," Lina said, cringing in memory. "I believe he called me short and flat chested," she said. Then she grinned slightly. "And I believe I gave _ him_ an internal hemorrhage." 

"Kallar!" Tyrion said, turning to him. 

"Oh hush," Kallar said. "You two will get along much better than that. You're both overly belligerent. You should do well together." 

"What did you just call me?" Lina asked, raising her right fist. Kallar sighed. 

"Exactly," he said. "Mrs. Overkill, meet Mr. Overkill." 

"I don't get it," Tyrion said. Kallar explained. 

"For example, she once let loose a psychic attack that wiped out an entire enemy encampment when we needed her to assassinate merely one person. You, likewise, debilitate people even if your unsure _what_ side they belong to. To sum up, you both like solving problems by hitting things or blowing stuff up. You're going to be perfect with each other." 

"I sense sarcasm in there," Lina said with a smirk. 

"Anyway," Kallar said, "I'm going to get on my way. There will be someone else that will get you acquainted with the rest of the procedures here. I, at the moment, have other things to attend to." Kallar turned away and walked down the hanger, exiting a door and going on to something more important. Tyrion glanced at Lina. 

"What now?" he asked. 

"I'm…not really sure," she admitted, seeming to have calmed down some. "I'm still pissed at Kallar that he would enlist me a new partner without my approval. No offense, but I kind of prefer the solo act." 

"None taken. I'm not much different. Say…I've never met another person with blue hair," he said, trying to make conversation. 

"You're from Lyons, right?" she asked. He nodded. "I guess you don't get out much. All females of pure Ithilmarian decent have blue hair. It's a gene trait." 

"You're from Ithilmar?" 

"I _was_ from Ithilmar. We don't talk about that anymore…get it?" 

"Whatever you say," Tyrion said with a shrug. He glanced past her. "Which one of those is yours?" he said, pointing to the Armours. 

"Hmm…yeah, I guess I should explain all of that to you," she said. "Why don't you just follow me." She walked ahead of him, not turning back to look at him, and he followed like he had been following Kallar up until this point. She walked up to a group of people garbed in the uniform black clothing that was prevalent in this compound. 

"Is this Tyrion Mandrake?" one of the men stepped forward and asked. Tyrion, surprised that he was already known, nodded. 

"That's me." 

"Excellent," the man said. "We were told you were coming." 

"Told?" 

"We have an Armour all prepared for you." 

"For…me?" he asked. 

"Follow," the man said, walking down the corridor formed by the Armour racks. He stopped when he came to one particularly special one. It was, like the rest of them, the size of a man. It looked more slim than some of the others, colored in mostly black with streaks of gold and blue. The small slit in the mask where the wearer looked out was dark red. 

"What is this?" Tyrion said. "You'll have to excuse me. I know practically nothing about these machines." 

"This is-" the man started to say, but Lina cut him off. 

"This is Cyoren," she said shortly. "It's the Armour that they've picked out for you." She turned to the man. "And it's a load of crap!" she said. "He's a newcomer and you give Cyoren to him? He's not even Ithilmarian! He's from friggin' Lyons!" 

"I take it this is what you were yelling over before?" Tyrion said. 

"That's right," Lina said, crossing her arms and giving the man a dirty stare. 

"Well, I don't see why you can't have it," Tyrion said. "I'm not particular. Why is this one so interesting anyway?" 

"It's top of the line," Lina said. "Right from our Ithilmarian suppliers. Why do you think M-1 has changed the course of the war so heavily? We buy Armours off of a black market agent from an Ithilmar source. Ithilmarian Armours are far superior to those of Lyons and Denegard." 

"So why don't you take it?" he asked Lina. 

"Because it's your Armour, Tyrion," the other man said. 

"Well, then, if Lina wants it so bad, she can have it." _I don't want to get on this girl's bad side. She might eat me alive if I piss her off._

"It's…not that simple," the man said. "We don't know why they want you to use it either. It's an order directly from Command." 

"Oh come on!" Lina pouted. "Tyrion says I can have it, don't 'cha Tyrion?" she said in a suddenly charming voice. 

"I don't see why not." 

"Mr. Mandrake, it's out of our hands." 

_ You'll give it to me later, then?_, came a voice in Tyrion's head. He spun around quickly to see who might have been behind him, but there was no one there. 

_ I'm down here, you idiot_, the voice said. Abruptly, he looked down at Lina. _There you go_, Lina's voice said._ Telepathy, remember? I know Kallar told you, that nosey piece of crap. If you want to talk, just think what you would say and I'll get it._

_ Isn't that illegal to invade someone's mind?_, Tyrion asked. 

_ It's not like they could prove it, _Lina said with a grin. _Anyway, we'll talk about this later…and I didn't appreciate that remark about me eating you. A lady would never do such things._

_ Geez, _Tyrion though. _I really have to watch what I think…_

"Mr. Mandrake?" the man said, snapping him back to attention. He just realized that he hadn't been listening for the past few seconds. 

"Umm…yes, sorry." 

"We can acquaint you with Cyoren tomorrow. We'll have someone show you to your quarters." 

"…Sure," Tyrion said with a shrug. 

"Lina, would you mind?" the man said. 

"Mind what?" 

"Show Tyrion to his quarters. He's in barracks 3-A" 

"What am I? Some sort of servant now?" 

"Lieutenant…" 

"All right, all right, I'm going," she said in defeat. "Come on," she said to Tyrion. Lemme show you where you're staying to so I can get back to more important things." 

"You know, I liked the more polite version of you that was trying to wrestle that Armour out from under me. Maybe we can see that little girl again?" Lina stopped walking and spun around. 

"Little girl? Listen here, hot shot," she said bitterly. "If you don't watch what-" 

"Okay, okay!" Tyrion interjected, waving his hands in the air. "No 'little girl' from now on. Okay, I promise. Never again." 

"Hmph," Lina moaned, putting her hands on her hips. "That's a start. Now lets go. I've got better things than lead you around like an ass." With that, Lina started off towards the entry way with Tyrion in tow, not even wating for him to catch up. 

. 

_"Lina was an unusual one. Quick to anger, hard to please, sarcastic and even childish at times. It was almost as she herself wasn't ready to deal with all of the power that she had been given." -_Jack McKlane, on Lina Esrevni 


	7. Two of a Kind

**Chapter 6**

**Two of a Kind**

On the other side of the globe… 

With the escalation of the war, Denegrad was feeling the pain the most. While many residents of Lyons looked at the war as something that was too far away to worry about immediately, the people of Denegrad were constantly feeling the impact. This was mostly because the fronts of the war were on Denegrad soil at this point. After M-1 had begun to assist the Nation of Lyons in their war effort, the Denegrad forces had been pushed back to their own soil. It was now the Denegrad cities that were under siege. 

Denegrad, unlike the fertile land in Lyons, is a desert country. It is a land where water is a commodity and rationed by the government. It is also a capitalistic enterprise to sell water to the masses. However, the desert lends it self to other uses. People in Denegrad grow up mostly in naturally harsh conditions. Survival of the fittest is the rule of the desert. To this extent, though, citizens of Denegrad are typically stronger and better situated to combat than those of Lyons. Furthermore, they learn the art of war from a young age. 

The Denegrad military is well equipped and well trained, more so than that of Lyons. Because of this, Denegrad was able to control the path of the war until the intervention of M-1. The superior forces of M-1 began to out match most of the Denegrad military, marking the turning point of the war and the beginning of the Lyons campaign that brought the front passed disputed territory and into the Denegrad homeland. To this day, only the elite Denegrad forces of the En'Kai can combat against the pressures of M-1. Unfortunately, though, even they are beginning to suffer losses. 

All forms of military forces had thusly been diverted to the war effort. Law enforcement agencies were stripped to the bare minimum and their manpower and equipment shipped off to the front. Guns became more and more and were the symbol of only the rich. There was, at this point, very little to stop the people of Denegrad from seizing control of their own government in this turbulent time. The only thing preventing this was that people had been generally happy with their governing body. While this had changed slightly when they started to lose, the Democratic approach to rule that Denegrad used was supported by the people. 

Not everyone felt this way, of course. And, with fewer men to enforce the law, there are some who look on this as a time to take advantage. Rising crime rates through the country reflected this trait. In response to this, though, there grew a new profession in the State of Denegrad: that of the vigilante, the freelance law enforcer who takes justice into his own hands. Services of the able are in high demand, but they go for a high price as well. 

Alaria was a believer in the Apostle of Griever Church. She, like the millions of other followers of Griever around the world, believed in three fundamental things. First, they believed that God had harvested the fruits of Man on Celes, helping them to evolve into his own image. Second, that God had seen what evils Man was committing on Celes, and 5000 years ago he sent his own child, Adrekel, to bring man to Salvation. Third, that God would come again, his arrival marking the End of the World as we know it and the admittance of all of the Apostles of Griever into Eternal Salvation in the afterlife. 

This belief stretched farther and more densely across the globe than any other organized religion. The reason why it was spread so far was a mystery. Most of the records from the years when it had spread were lost to later civilizations and are now the sought after treasures of scientists around the world. However, because the faith was so widespread, it typically has an impact on things of all nature on Celes. Even more popular in Lyons than Denegrad, the Griever Sect there nearly makes religion and government synonymous… 

Alaria was also one of those who now worked for hire in order to keep peace in the land. Her job, which she took very seriously, was not only her way of putting food on the table and keeping a roof over her head, but it was a way of life. She had been fighting for nearly three months now. It had been going on like this ever since her sixteenth birthday and her leaving the Nisai Ryu monastery where she had spent the three earlier years of her life. 

Currently, she was in the middle of a clearing, located somewhere in towards the center of a large forest on the northern coastline of the Denegrad Continent. Granted, the northern coast was one of the only places where you could still find a forest in Denegrad, but regardless, it was a forest, most nondescript in other characteristics. She was glancing around cautiously, but not yet nervously. There wasn't anything frightening there yet, but there would be in a few moments. 

She looked a few yards over and saw what she could really only consider her partner, for lack of a better word. Maybe a 'collaborator in business enterprise' would have worked, as partner didn't sound quite right. He was, like her, also checking his surroundings in a cautious manner. 

"They'll be here soon, Teclis," she said. "Then we should be able to double back on them and catch them in this clearing." 

"Keep your voice down," the man called Teclis shot. He perked up, standing up to his full height, a generous five feet, ten some odd inches. His arms didn't seem like warriors arms. They were stringy, the image of tendons and cords showing more predominately than muscle bulk. They looked as they had been working hard all of their life, never able to grow in size. Their appearance was therefore condemned to be sinewy. His legs, though they could not be seen underneath his deep purple pants, looked similarly to his arms. They were not weak legs, just not powerful legs. His whole body was full of ripcord. Everything seemed like it was wound so tight, it about to explode. 

He slowly ran a hand through his short, thin and spiky hair. His hair, a dark shade of blue, was his more noticeable feature. Unlike his arms, which were uninteresting, his hair attracted attention. It made him unique. It also made him a perfect match for Alaria, as their similar hair colors gave them something which employers could remember them by. Her hair, slightly lighter and much longer than his, was also a deep shade of blue, tied in a pony tail; blue hair was a sign of magic birth as superstition in Denegrad went. They were, in all likelihood, the two of the only people with blue hair in all of Denegrad. People didn't forget being attacked by two blue haired warriors, nor did people looking to hire them forget their reputation. 

"We should move towards the trees," Alaria said. "Get the drop on the with an attack from above." 

"Let's do it quickly then," Teclis shot. "We don't know how many there are." He made a quick hand signal and the two sprinted off into opposite directions, running back into the forest and into the canopies of the trees. 

Within a few moments after, the clearing became filled by about twenty or so men in black clothing, obviously the ones after Alaria and Teclis. The looked to be mostly armed with swords of various lengths, a few also armed with guns. As they filed into the area, looking around them for signs of their prey, one dressed in red, appearing to be the leader, called out to them. 

"We have this forest surrounded. Give us back what you stole and we'll let you live!" 

Now, Alaria didn't appreciate these semantics. By saying that they had stolen anything would imply that they were thieves. How ironic it was to be called a thief by the thief. Sure, some of the gems and other such goodies which they found amongst the gang would placed in her own coffers, but the majority would be returned! The nerve of this guy, calling her a thief for just trying to do good business. Teclis obviously did not enjoy the remark either, as a bolt of lightening streaked out of the trees where he had headed, striking the man in red dead on contact. 

Teclis could use magic. It made him pretty unique. In fact, it made him just about a walking business card. He didn't know why he was able to use it, nor did he know why others couldn't. All and all, his ability to manipulate Ether and Order and all sorts of other energy sources had caused him more grief then joy in his life. Naturally, with this unique trait, he was always singled out no matter how hard he tried to blend in. Again, the blue hair didn't help, either, but magic was something different. People didn't fear blue hair. People feared magic. 

Alaria took this opportunity to strike as well. Leaping out of the trees, she catapulted herself into the air, coming down like a black cloud that blocked out the sun as the gang members looked up to see their assailant. As she came down, she drew a three foot blade from her black cloaks and embedded into the head of the closest enemy. Pulling it out of his head with the slurping sound of destroyed brain matter, she swung it upward, parrying the downward thrusts of the weapons of two of her attackers. 

"Tec, nail the gunners!" she screamed to her partner, who quickly floated out of the trees into the air, surrounded in red energy. 

"Flare Arrow!" he yelled, and three crimson streaks of fire sparked from his hands towards one of the men wielding a rifle. The fires singed his body and he fell to the ground with a clunk. Teclis quickly moved down towards the fight, launching another Flare Arrow as he went. 

Alaria went back to her own work, sweeping her blade under those of her two assailants, gutting them easily. Continuing to swing towards the right, she brought her blade into her left hand and parried another oncoming attack. Before her newly parried opponent knew what happened, she had drawn a dagger from a sheath on her shoulder with her right hand and embedded it into his sternum. Leaving the dagger and jumping over him and towards the outside of the fray, three small black bladed objects shot forward from her hands, catching another thug in the head. 

She landed, now with her back to the trees and her front towards the fifteen or so remaining thieves. However, the number was cut down to thirteen with the exuberant shout of, "Burst Rondo!" from above and bright balls of explosive fire energy colliding with the ground towards the back of the enemy group. 

Alaria charged into the battle again. Drawing her left hand back and throwing her sword at the nearest man, she hit him in the chest with it, embedding it further in as she leapt at him with a flying kick. Knocking the two men behind him over as well, she turned to the left and drew two more short swords from their hip sheaths. One sword snapped left, knocking aside a block, the second stabbed forward tearing through the nearest abdomen. Then the first sword came down again, blocking an incoming attack as she pulled the second sword out of her victim. Ducking the next swipe, she wound up both blades and swung them like scissors across the closest neck, decapitating her next victim effortlessly. Quickly sensing two more foes from behind, she spun the blades around and stabbed them backwards, underneath her armpits, catching two more enemies in the chests and leaving the blades there. 

"Ari, there's more coming!" Teclis shouted from above as he fried another victim with a Mono Volt. "We're going to be in trouble if-" he stopped mid sentence, gathering energies for another spell. "Ice Lance!" he shouted, forming a spear of ice in front of him and letting it ram towards one of the thieves, catching him in the neck and tearing through most of the vital arteries and nerves. "-if we don't finish up fast," he then said, finishing his first sentence. 

"I'm working on it, Tec," she said, reaching behind her back and drawing two knives. One in each hand, she lunged the nearest gangster and sliced upwards, splitting him from navel to nipple. She then flipped over him and slit his neck as she landed on the ground behind him. 

"They'll be here soon. I can see their torches!" Teclis called. 

"Then do something about it!" Alaria screamed, taking her left hand knife and inserting it into a kidney as she leftward-sidestepped another attack. Her right hand knife then quickly jumped from her hand as she threw it into the forehead of someone coming from her left. She almost fell backwards in this awkward motion, but recovered into a cartwheel-round-off combination. Then, leaping into the air again, she almost seemed to hover parallel to the ground, splitting her legs and catching each of two new enemies in the temples, sending them to the floor. She quickly went into a horizontal spiral as she came out of the air, landed in a push-up position, and then launched herself backwards in a flying mule kick. With perfect aim, she caught another man beneath his nose, smashing it upward and sending bone shards into his brain, killing him almost instantly. Backflipping into a ready position again, she drew another weapon from a boot sheath: a long string of razor wire with a weight on the end. 

Swinging it around in circles, she used the ingenious device to parry oncoming blades away and dice into her foes as well. In fact, the wire was so efficient that if the blade being parried hit the wire close enough to a right angle, the blade was often split cleanly, making it useless. Alaria's dazzling acrobatics with the wire made it hard to follow her movements with simple guessing. It was almost like a dance now, Alaria relying on sense to find where there was an oncoming sword and to bring the wire up to knock it out of the way. 

Finally, she flipped backwards into the air, shortened the wire to about one foot in length, grabbed it at both ends, and latched it around another man's neck as she landed behind him. Pulling sharply, it tore his neck in half easily, letting his body topple to the floor separate from his head. 

Teclis, meanwhile, took it upon himself to dealing with the newly oncoming enemies. Using a Flame Wall spell, he tried to seal off the clearing with a coruscation of fire, but it didn't appear to be working as the oncoming thieves jumped through the fire without recognition of it being there. The only thing left to do was to settle each dispute with an individual spell, and he began to use his Flare Arrow to dispatch the individuals heading towards the melee that Alaria was ruling over. 

He was hovering just about at the center of the field at this point, but for some reason, he wasn't attracting much attention. Even the gunners, who could have been shooting at him, seemed to be more intent on getting at Alaria. This pissed him off to no extent, and he made sure that they knew this by using Diem Wind to push the occasional thief back into the flame wall that now surrounded the clearing. Holding them there with Stop, he let them burn on their own, out of the reach of his concern. 

He couldn't see if Alaria looked to be taking care of herself well. Teclis did, however, take care of the back of the mob, now using a concentrated Ice Beam that would hopefully disable as many as possible. He eventually even stopped hovering and began to cast spells from the ground, trying to distract some attention from Alaria. 

She was beginning to need it, too. Their numbers, bolstered by the stream that was still coming through the Fire Wall, were beginning to wear down on her. She slashed outward faster than they could react, and her newest weapon, a double ended blade, was doing its job, but the circle was getting tighter and tighter around her, pushing her farther into towards the wall of fire. 

Frantically, she decided to reposition herself, trying to vault out of the crowd and join up with Teclis behind them. As she leapt from the ground however, she quickly found that someone had grabbed her leg and was pulling her back down. 

"Shit," Teclis spat, seeing her struggle to escape. Flying a few feet above and incinerating the few baddies around him, he also saw her get pulled back in, her form disappearing amongst the crowd. Quickly, her scream filled the air and Teclis cursed again. 

"Always need me to save you…" he muttered, flying up to the air above them, sweeping the Winds into his hands as rapidly as possible. There wasn't much time before she could be beaten to death, and he needed to clear out as much as he could. As an electrically cackling sphere formed in his now outstretched hands, he closed his eyes and focused his energy. 

"Giga Volt!" he shouted at the top of his lungs as a dozen streams of lightning shot out of the ball toward the area where Alaria had been pulled down. Teclis lowered himself closer to the conflagration as he continued to pour energy into the spell. He still fired the spell until enough figures had fallen so that Alaria's downed body was in view. Lowering himself into the clearing amongst the thieves, he loosed Wind magic on the foes, holding them back from bothering him as he picked up her body off of the ground before she knew what had happened. He quickly flew up above the fight again and saw that they were now readying their guns on him. 

Alaria was still conscious, though bleeding in multiple places. "Thanks…" she said softly. 

"You're too aggressive," Teclis scolded, not looking at her. "You need to learn to control yourself." 

"I know…" Alaria said with a sigh. "I'm not good enough yet." Teclis didn't say anything, looking down at the now firing enemies as he erected a Balus Wall. 

"Okay, shits," Teclis said. "If you think you can do that and get away with it you're wrong…" he spat, shifting his grip on Alaria to hold her in his right arm. Hovering higher above the battle field, he started to gather more energy. Monotonously at first, he began to chant. 

"…Darkness beyond twilight, crimson beyond blood that flows. Buried in the stream of time, is where your power glows…" 

"Tec, you don't need to," Alaria said weakly, but he was not to be dissuaded. He continued to gather energy, a red ball of power beginning to form in his left hand which he pointed towards the clearing below him. 

"…I pledge myself to conquer all the foes who stand before the might gift bestowed in my unworthy hand..." The energy in his hand doubled in size and wind began spiraling around him and Alaria closed her eyes to protect them from the flash that would ensue. 

"May the fools who stand before me be destroyed by the power you and I possess!" Teclis screamed, continuing to rise into the air, his eyes red with anger. Then, for a moment, time almost froze and the thieves became standing corpses in a sense. Their fate was sealed in that instant, and Teclis knew it. Their images seemed locked in icy for that split second where he could have fired the spell somewhere else, but there would be no mercy. Time then quickly sped up to normal speed and Teclis's voice was heard from miles around. 

"Dragon Slave!!" he screamed, releasing the energy built up in his hand. Exploding outward into a spiral and then reforming a few feet later, the beam of Ethereal energy streaked downward towards the ground, impacting with a devastating explosion. The heat around the blast had probably incinerated the thieves the instant the spell hit, so they had more than likely felt no pain. Whatever was there would not be recognizable, and the signature crater formed by the spell would remain there for years to come. Even the traces of the Dark Ethereal energy used would remain for a few days. Any decent mage could detect when a Dragon Slave had been used if he saw the site. Teclis wasn't worried about keeping hidden. 

After staying silent for awhile, Alaria finally spoke. "You blew up all my blades, Teclis," she said as they flew away. "I never had a chance to collect them from the bodies." 

"You can buy more when we get back to town. We'll collect our money by sundown," Teclis said, getting his bearings as to where the nearest town was. "..And we'll get you some medical treatment…" he added, almost as an afterthought. Alaria sighed again. It was nearly 5:00. 

. 

In the nearby town of Rockhaught 

The two blue haired warriors sat in a bar in the downtown section of Rockhaught, the town that they had been commissioned to get rid of those thieves by. Unlike most of the towns in Denegrad that had high adobe clay walls and buildings in order to keep the temperature down, Rockhaught was a rare town that was close to water. It was one of the smaller ports on the northern coast, but the whistles of ships could still often be heard exiting and entering the harbor. 

The military had limited activity in the port over the last few weeks, so import of goods had dropped. That was coupled with the bandit raids from the gang that had been hiding out in the forest. Alaria and Teclis had been hired earlier that day to clean out the bandits and recover a few specific items stolen from some upper class members of the town. They had been given a week to do the job, but that would be too long to go for them. As Teclis had said, they would have collected their money before sundown. It was now around 9:00, the sun fully down and the duo fully paid. 

"You know, we don't have to rush out of here so soon," Alaria said, still holding a pack of ice to her head to reduce the swelling. In all of Teclis's magic, he had never been much of a healer, and so the local doctor had to suffice. She hadn't needed many stitches, but the doctor was afraid that she might have a concussion. 

"We can't wait around that long," Teclis said, taking a sip the tea that was in front of him. "Money doesn't last forever. We need to eat, you know? That means we have to work." 

"Tec, this last job was a haul. We'll be fine for awhile. Maybe we don't have to get traveling again. Plus, I still need to buy new weapons." 

"You can do it tomorrow morning," he said curtly. "We shouldn't dally here." 

"It's a nice town," she said. "It wouldn't hurt to take a break." 

"It wouldn't hurt our bodies, but it would hurt our purses," he shot back. 

"So maybe you need to think about your body," Alaria said. "You have to be tired. You need to recuperate your energy too," she pleaded. The edges of his mouth curled up ever so slightly, not noticeable unless you were really paying attention. 

"It's not like we're not going to sleep, Ari," he said. "We're just not going to wait here long." 

"So where are we going next?" she finally said, still in argument. "Where's the next town?" 

"Halt is a day's ride to the south west, about an hour by rail. It'll be nice to be back in the desert again." 

"No it won't," she said. "I like it here." Teclis sighed. 

"Do I have to go through the whole 'then don't come with me' thing again? I really don't feel like doing that today." Alaria frowned. 

"If I didn't want to go with you, I'd have left awhile ago," she said, somewhat cynically. "It's not a matter of that. I think you need to take some more time off." 

"There is no rest for either the weary or the poor, Alaria," Teclis said. "And without money, you don't eat. You don't eat, you don't live. It's that simple." Alaria pounded the table in concession, jumping slightly as her hand was still sore, too. 

"Fine," she finally muttered. "We go tomorrow to Halt. What time does the Dene-Rail come in?" 

"I'll find out before we go to sleep," Teclis said, rising from his chair, stretching and yawning. "Or…I'll find out tomorrow morning," he said wearily. "I'm going to sleep now. We're staying in the hotel two doors over." 

_ He is tired_, Alaria thought. _Why is he so afraid to rest somewhere?_

"Fine," Alaria said. "I'll be there in a few minutes. I'm going to finish my drink…" She looked at Teclis who mustered a simple wave before walking out of the door, throwing his cape behind him. 

_ He's more uptight than usual today_, she thought. _Why can't he talk to me? We've only been friends for our entire lives…_

She sipped again at her drink, glancing around the smoke filled bar. She didn't know how they chose these places. They could have been relaxing somewhere else, maybe use some of their cash for a fancy hotel for a change. Instead, Teclis was in the shady hotel a few doors down and would be sleeping in minutes, while she was stuck here with half a bottle of liquor left and no one to drink it with. Teclis wasn't much into drinking anyway, and he always beat her in their drinking contests when he did give into her taunts. 

Having passed temporarily into daydreaming, Alaria was startled by the entrance of three new figures through the bar door. They were wearing weather beaten cloak with hoods concealing their faces. Their clothes almost entirely covered by the cloaks they wore, Alaria could see in a few places they were wearing mostly gray and green underneath. All three of them were over six feet tall and of broad build. They surveyed the bar for a moment, finally looking at Alaria. She was surprised when they then walked over to her table, looking down at her. Quickly, she stuck the ice pack she had been holding underneath the table. 

"May we sit?" the one in the middle asked. His face was dark and rigid, marked by numerous scars. Alaria, too tired to argue, didn't mind. 

"Knock yourself out," she said, motioning to the empty chairs. 

"My name is Grev," the first one said. "These two are Ja and Iao," he motioned to his companions. 

_ Deep Desert names,_ Alaria thought. _These guys come from the heart of Denegrad._

"I'm Alaria," she said blankly. 

"A pleasure," Grev said, holding out his hand. Alaria slowly reached hers out as well, shaking with Grev. She did similarly with the other two men. Oddly enough, though, when their sleeves slid up as they extended their hands, she noticed the same mark on the backs of each of their right hands: a five point star with wings. 

"What can I do for you gentlemen," she said, hoping they weren't looking for a fight. She didn't feel like she could do much at the moment. 

"Mind sharing that bottle?" Grev said, taking the floor. "If it's not to much trouble." 

"Don't see why not," Alaria said, pushing the bottle and glass over to him. Silently, Grev filled the glass up half way with the liquor and took a small sip, closing his eyes for a moment. 

"We were hoping you could supply us with some information," he finally said, cutting right to the point. 

"That was quick," she said, fighting instinct to take the bottle back. "But what makes you think I'd have any info you're looking for." 

"Can I assume you're from Ithilmar?" Grev asked, gesturing to the blue hair that Alaria had only partially been able to conceal beneath her hood. Alaria flinched briefly, almost sneering. 

"That depends on what the assumption is for," Alaria said, somewhat bitterly. 

"You're traveling with a man, are you not?" Grev asked. Alaria looked at him suspiciously. 

"Who wants to know?" she asked slowly, now feeling the need to be on guard. 

"Please," Grev said. "We're hardly looking for a fight. Don't be so tense." Alaria looked him in the eye. His silvery gray eyes did not seem to betray lies. Though it might be a trick. He may just be a good liar. 

"Before I answer any questions, an explanation as to who you are might be in order. You'll have to excuse me for being a bit suspicious of a few guys who walk into a bar asking questions of me." 

"We're simply gatherers of information," Grev said. "It's our job to find things out." 

"So you're involved in Intelligence," Alaria said, hoping to lead them into betraying their purpose. 

"In a manner of speaking," Grev shrugged. "But aren't we all involved in Intelligence. Isn't the meaning of being human that of trying to learn new things? To expand on what we know? To explore? To create?" Alaria rolled her eyes. 

"I don't appreciate the equivocation," she said bluntly. "Will one of you gentlemen enlighten me in a more direct route?" she asked, motioning to Ja and Iao. 

"We found your handiwork today in the forest," the one called Iao said, speaking for the first time. "We had been monitoring the fight and followed you here. We're mostly looking to speak with the man you were with. The one who uses magic." 

Alaria looked at Iao coldly in the eye, then she looked back to Grev. "I don't know what you're talking about," she said finally. "We've been in town all day. I was injured a few days ago. Do I look like I'm in condition to be wandering in a forest?" 

"Are you-" Grev started to say. 

"I'm sure," Alaria said, answering his question. Grev stared at her in silence for a moment. 

"Okay, young one," Grev said, climbing out of his seat. "I understand. The time is not yet right. You may be more willing to cooperate later. Do not fear. We have no intention of being upset. We will withdraw…for now." The other two stood up as well. All three of them walked to the door, but Grev halted. 

"By the way," he said, pausing. "They say that only the Blade Masters of the Nisai Ryu can make a blade that can withstand the heat of a Dragon Slave…" 

Alaria's heart stopped beating for a moment. 

Grev motioned into his cloak and his hand snapped forward again in as fluid a motion as Alaria had ever seen. She was nearly impaled as a three foot blade came rocketing towards her, but once she had sight of what it was, she caught it mid flight by the handle and spun it around rapidly, sheathing it on her back. She didn't even have to check the handle to see that the blade was hers. The way it sounded as it cut through the air was indication enough. She gave him a cold stare, realizing the mockery that he was applying. 

"See you later," Grev said with a childish smirk as he left the bar, followed by Iao and Ja. The bar door swung closed and Alaria let out a sigh, then realizing that everyone around the bar was looking at them. Shifting her eyes nervously, she picked up her ice pack, put it back on her head and stood up. Awkwardly, the brushed off her clothes and concealed the protruding handle of the sword that was sheathed on her back. Walking out of the bar, she looked for a sign of the three mysterious visitors, but they were no where to be seen. 

_…They knew I was from Nisai Ryu_, Alaria thought. _And they knew the name of the spell that Teclis used in the forest. On top of that, they managed to recover the blade, only to shove it in my face that they knew I was lying. Who are these guys? He threw that sword with such precision. He didn't want to hit me. He wanted that to go just how it did. Now I know that they know I wouldn't tell them about Tec. What the hell is happening around here? Either way, Teclis will be interested by this…_

. 

_ "When I met Alaria for the first time, the struck me instantaneously as the kind of person that doesn't take anything from anyone. She looked to fighting as an answer just as much as the rest of them, but there was something oddly different about her in her temperament. It was almost like she was longing for something."_ -Sarah McKlane 


	8. On the Move

**Chapter 7**

**On the Move**

Town of Rockhaught 

Teclis tried to sleep, but was plagued by dreams. The same one, or similar ones, had been happening often enough for it to be considered recurring. He would see himself in the mirror of some unknown bathroom. In the reflection, he would be able to see Alaria standing outside of the room. All he would be allowed to do for what seemed endless would be to look at his own reflection, his eyes locking with those of his image. It wasn't until a sound, the same sound as always, a high-pitched whirr began to resonate that anything moved. Then he could see the mirror before him crack, the rupture starting in the middle of his image's forehead, and spread out from there. 

No one would ever speak in this dream. He remembered trying to open his mouth numerous times, but nothing came out. Or, maybe his voice was being drowned out by the whirring, but he knew that he could not hear himself talk. Alaria always looked ghostly in these dreams, much paler than she actually was, and her eyebrows would be blue, instead of their normal color of dark brown. His own image was in black and white, though, save for his earring, which was still its normal color of red. 

He guessed her coloring to be a result of a taint in her bloodline, preventing all of her hair from being blue. She didn't know much about her past, so she could never tell him. They had both met when they were very young children in an orphanage. They spent their young lives there, Teclis being thrown out at the age of 14 when the Purge of all magic users came to its height and the orphanage owner did not want to be connected with one. 

Neither of them knew where they came from, though their coloring and bone structure would signify that they were Ithilmarian in birth. Teclis's hair was another story, however, as blue hair was an anomaly, if not unique, among men, even _in_ Ithilmar. The country of birth was normally the only answer that they could provide when asked about their pasts. Neither of them knew their parents, or how they ended up on the main land. That may have been the reason they became friends. 

Consolation in the confusion and misery of others is a common human trait. Neither of them felt quite so alone in a world that didn't seem to accept them when they were with the other. It was the simple fact that there was someone else who they meshed with and could fit in with. 

Even to this day, though, he was cold to her sometimes. He didn't really know why. He felt it must be his personality, though that didn't seem an acceptable example. It wasn't as though he treated her differently than anyone else, though. He treated her like he treated everyone: cold and detached. It was part of him. 

The magic use might have had some say in that. The Black Wind had started to manifest itself around him by the time he was 10 years of age. People would have inexplicable accidents as he walked past, and no one could explain it. The Black Wind was the mark of a person gifted –or cursed- with the ability to synchronize with Shadow magic as their Ether Order. It was accepted as a bad omen amongst most, especially in a land where magic use was shunned and reserved for a specific few. When the war with Lyons escalated, magic was looked on as a scourge of the enemy, and there was a great quest to rid Denegrad of those who could use it. 

Teclis managed to escape the Purge by hiding with a Magic Guild, an extension of the Codicium, the Order of Mages, in Denegrad. These few were allowed to practice magic, and so he was saved from the concentration camps. Even in the Codicium, though, he was an outsider. Shadow Magic wasn't too rare among the Mages there, but Black Magic was a different story. 

Able to cast a Dragon Slave by the time he was 12, he was even ostracized amongst the Order of Mages. Power like his hadn't been seen in centuries, if ever, and it made even the eldest of the Mages worried. Still, he spent the next three or so years of his life in the Guild, honing his skills, until he finally left. It was by sheer chance that he actually met up with Alaria again, having not seen her in the three years that he had left the orphanage. At this point, she had already been working as a Freelancer, and, needing money and food, he began to work with her. 

Being a Freelancer didn't pay much, and so they reserved some money by staying in relatively cheap lodgings when they could. What they typically went a little more expensively on was something that Teclis thought was more important anyway: travel. To this extent, they typically traveled relatively well, reserving upper class compartments on the Denegrad-Monorail-Transport-Network, abbreviated DMTN but nicknamed the Dene-Rail, when they traveled from town to town in search of work. 

Teclis and Alaria made their way to this Dene-Rail at a reasonable hour the morning after they arrived in Rockhaught. Teclis had, in a rare occurrence, overslept, and Alaria had gone to buy them tickets for an 11:00 departure, heading to Halt. She had also gone to replace the swords that hadn't been returned by mysterious strangers the night before. 

The two of them traveled to the Station at around 10:30, after a hasty breakfast that would simply due to tide them over until they reached Halt and could find some work and get more to eat. The Station was not exceptionally large, having ports to only three of the single-rail tracks that Dene-Rail trains used. Over the tracks stretched a large arched red awning, supported by iron framework. 

The trains themselves were long, sleek devices, their surfaces reaching down past the rail where they contacted with the magnets that the rail used to propel the train forward. With this effective method of propulsion, the Dene-Rail could propel its trains upwards of 200 mile per hours, though people on Celes reckoned their distances in Hikes, which is about two thirds of a mile. 

As Alaria had bought the tickets, she splurged and acquired a First Class cabin; getting Teclis back for the cheap hotel he had picked the night before. He made as if he was bothered for about two minutes before finally giving in following her aboard the train as she told him about what had happened the night before after he had left the bar. She managed to finish the story by the time they entered what would be their cabin for the ride. 

A First Class cabin was nice, especially for only two people. It was roomy, the seats were fine leather, and the floors were finished with dark mahogany wood. Rather than the seats that some of the lower class cabin had, First Class had long, deep couches lining the three inner walls. In the middle, a table could appear at the push of a button from its resigning place below the plush rug that complimented the wood siding on the walls. Finally, the couches could be converted to a bed for longer journeys. 

"And they didn't give a reason for looking for me?" Teclis asked as Alaria finished her story. She shook her head. Teclis pondered the turn of events for a moment. "But if they could identify the Dragon Slave by sight, or maybe by magical remnants, they must know what they're talking about." 

"They asked if I was from Ithilmar," she said. "And they knew that I was studied in Nisai Ryu, and that it was where my blade came from. But, even considering that he knew enough about the blade to prove he's familiar with the Nisai Ryu, that doesn't mean he's connected with it or Ithilmar. Their names were very ethnic, Deep Desert names. And, their builds were those of pure Denegradian." 

"Or they want you to think that," Teclis said bitterly. "If they match the description of a Denegrad Soldier, or even an En'Kai, they could have taken up those names to throw you off. What was the symbol on their hands, again?" 

"A five point start with wings," Alaria said. Teclis closed his eyes. 

"I'm pretty sure that the En'Kai marking is that of a large winged bird carrying a lightning bold in its left talon and arrows in its right. I don't know what would have a five pointed star with wings, though." 

"I'd rule out that they're connected to Nisai Ryu in any true way, as well," Alaria said. 

"Why's that?" 

"Nisai Ryu is entirely made of females, aside from the a few of the very oldest elders amongst the organization. That, and every one of them have blue hair, a marking of strong Ithilmarian blood. They don't accept people that don't have blue hair. It has something to do with the Ithilmarian ability to process Lifestream energy. Unless the combatant is pure, or mostly pure, they can't do it. Either way, there must be a different reason that they know about the Nisai Ryu." 

"Aren't you close to being pure?" Teclis said. "You'd know after spending time with others in your Monastery, correct?" 

"It's not like there are many people ever training in a Monastery at one time, but most of the girls there had slightly diluted blood like mine. There were maybe one or two pure Ithilmarians there. You can see the difference in some of my features. My eyebrows are dark, for example. My skin is similarly slightly darker. Most Pure Ithilmarians are very pale, but you can see I have more of a tan. That, and my chest is too big to be Ithilmarian," she added bluntly. 

"Huh?" Teclis said, blinking. "What does that have to do with anything?" Alaria laughed. 

"Ithilmarian girls tend to be relatively flat-chested," she said, still laughing. "That was what they teased me about at the Monastery more than anything else, that I had bigger breasts than everyone else there." 

"Well, they're not _really_ huge," Teclis admitted, turning slightly red. 

Alaria grinned. "They're big enough," she said. "Though they're reasonable enough to deal with." Both of them looked at each other awkwardly and then broke out into laughter, Alaria very loudly, Teclis more contained. 

"They told me that probably either one grandparent or great-grandparent of mine was from Denegrad," Alaria continued. "But their genes didn't take hold besides some coloring in physical makeup. I still process Lifestream like an Ithilmarian." 

Teclis thought for a moment. "So them being in the Nisai Ryu is ruled out." 

"Absolutely," Alaria agreed. 

"The other possibility is that they're from Lyons. Granted, they didn't look like Lyonites, but that doesn't change the possibility that they might simply be hired. We can't let ourselves be bogged down by their names and appearances. We need to consider who they're _working_ for." 

"Maybe someone in Halt will be able to tell us about the symbol on their hands," Alaria suggested. "That would be the best lead." She brought her sword forward from her side, where she had placed the sheath. Drawing the sword from its sheath, she examined it as the light flashed off of it. 

"It still bothers me that they knew about the sword…" she said. 

"Three feet long, one inch wide," Teclis said, reciting the dimensions of the sword. "A hilt of two inches in width and five eighths of an inch in depth. The handle is half an inch wide and seven eighths of an inch in depth. The blade is made with a metal and temper only found amongst the Nisai Ryu Ninjas, and can withstand the heat of a Dragon Slave." 

"And now we know that last part is tested," Alaria said, running her finger across the runes engraved near the base of the blade. "I'm somewhat happy it was returned," she admitted. "Though I wish it wasn't in such mockery." 

"He basically told you he knew you were lying," Teclis said. Alaria nodded. "How much did the new blades cost?" 

"300 Gil," Alaria said. "Though they weren't exactly up to the quality that I had hoped." 

"What's wrong with them? It's not like you to buy less-than-par equipment." 

"They're just a bit heavy," she admitted. "Consider how many I typically wear. What we call 'standard' equipment consists of our normal blade, which our new friends were familiar with, two shorter swords, at least four knives, and then a few optional items." 

"Such as?" 

"I use my razor wire with the handle on one end and the weight on the other. Also, there's the retractable claws and the dual blade. You know, the one that looks like knives fastened together at their bases?" 

"Yeah. I've seen it," he said absently. 

"Of course, the shorter swords fasten together similarly," she added. "But throw over that black cloak on top of everything? It gets not only kind of hot, but the weapons weigh you down after awhile." 

"Then why do you carry so many of them?" 

"Haven't you been listening?" she asked. "Normally, they're lighter than this. The short swords and knives I had to replace aren't the same material that I'm used to. They're much heavier." 

"You complain to much," he said. 

"Well, not all of us can just hurl lightning when we want to kill things. Some of us need to be more adaptable." 

"Maybe you just shouldn't dispose of them so quickly, then," Teclis said. Alaria grumbled. 

"Never mind," she finally said, crossing her arms. Teclis shrugged, picking up a newspaper, crossing his les, and opening it up. Courtesy of Dene-Rail, most classes of passengers were provided with the newspapers of the towns they were coming from and the towns they were going to. Teclis had opened up a Halt newspaper, looking in a section that had only been added a few months ago: Mercenary Jobs. 

Teclis scanned the page, looking for the jobs that were naturally the most appealing: those which paid the highest. Of course, some of them required more than two people in order to complete, and he normally hated contracting outside help. The best jobs were the ones that he and Alaria alone could handle. Granted, considering their individual training and combat backgrounds, there was a lot of flexibility in that prerequisite. 

"So what now?" Alaria asked impatiently. 

"I'm thinking," Teclis said. 

"But does anything look good?" 

"I'm _thinking_," he said again, slightly aggravated. Alaria became silent while Teclis perused the paper. After nearly five minutes, he finally lifted an eyebrow. 

"This looks good," he said, pointing to a blurb on the far right side. 

"Teclis…" Alaria said. "This…this is contract killing…" 

"So?" 

"So?!" 

"We kill people anyway," he said. "It's nothing new. _You_ killed more people yesterday than I did." 

"It's just…well…" 

"Something more morally reprehensible with being sent _solely_ to kill someone?" 

"It's not that, Tec-" 

"Don't be a hypocrite, Alaria," he said. "It's just the same as if we're hired to subdue bandits or recover jewels." 

"But I never looked at us as assassins before." 

"Do you have a problem with it? It pays 2500 Gil." Alaria thought about it for a moment. In truth, it wasn't different from what they were doing. She was Nisai Ryu Ninja. Killing had never been a problem. In fact, after time, it became almost a good way to relieve stress. It just seemed something about being hired for the sole purpose of killing someone. Maybe that's all that was bothering her. It did pay good after all, and in the long run, that was enough. 

"No," she finally said. "It sounds good. And we could use the money right?" Teclis nodded. 

"It was put in the paper today," he added. "Hopefully it hasn't been taken already. There are a lot of mercs without the combat training who might want to take it because it looks like it's only one kill and good pay. I'd bet my ass there will be underlings to off, too." 

"Not a problem," Alaria said, cracking her knuckles. "We'll deal." 

"And no requiring money to buy new blades, this time," Teclis said. Alaria frowned, but didn't say anything. Teclis buried his head in the newspaper, flipping through for an interesting story. 

Not able to think of anything else to do, and with Teclis being less than interesting conversation, Alaria curled up and closed her eyes. Maybe now she could get back some of the sleep she had lost the night before. 

. 

Town of Halt, Dene-Rail Station 

The first place to go when you're working as a merc and you're in a new town is a building that had sparked up in most places at this point. For something that hadn't existed more than a few months ago, the Freelance Enforcement Employment Office, or FEEO, was a common enough sight in towns. It was also where Teclis and Alaria were headed as they climbed off of the Dene-Rail into the town of Halt. 

Halt was much more a 'typical' Denegrad town, unlike Rockhaught. It was more inland, and therefore much more arid, located just inside the boundaries of what was geologically considered the North Desert. It was a town enclosed in walls, all too common nowadays, with buildings made of clay in order to keep the heat down. As this region wasn't terribly hot, there were a few buildings made of wood, but nothing more modern or advanced than that. 

The streets were dusty, having only been trampled down and not paved. Halt was a smaller town, its Dene-Rail station only seeing the passing-through of one track. As such, it was surprising that there was a job that paid 2500. This only lead the would-be employees to assume that it was not a job contracted by the town, but a private contract. No towns this size and in this war had 2500 to pay for an assassination. 

Inside of the FEEO, the waiting room was feebly cooled by a set of fans on the ceiling. The room was divided into two parts. The first was the waiting/reception area where people waited for their turn to register work. The second was behind a half wall, half glass plate, divider. This was the room where all the jobs were recorded. On the back of this area was a set of computerized displays marking the available jobs by identification number. People bustled around behind the 'wall,' handling the workings of the office. The waiting room currently served two other persons, who sat on one of the few, uninteresting couches that lined the dimly lit room, reading material likely procured from their recent job acquisition. 

"You're up, Tec," Alaria said, motioning to the rear wall behind which the receptionists and recorders were stationed. Teclis didn't say anything, simply walking up to the nearest station that was open and checking the identification number for the job marked as "Assn: Guardo, Jumpo; 2500/details pending." It was marked with the number 54029583. 

"Number 54029583," Teclis said to the woman behind the glass plate. "Register job for two." 

"Pay is 2500," the woman said. "All of the Major 3 acceptable for Proof of Death." 

"Conditions?" Teclis asked. 

"Time limit is three days," she said. "Then the job goes back on the available list. But, you look like you've done this before so you already knew that." Teclis nodded. 

"Is there a Personal Dossier on the Target or the Cause?" Teclis asked. The woman nodded. She turned around and went to a file cabinet on the far side of the back room. Thumbing through it for a minute, she pulled out a manila folder, walked back to the station, and handed it to Teclis through a small slot at the base of the glass. 

"Bonus on early completion?" Teclis asked as an afterthought, taking the folder into his cloaks. 

"You wouldn't be so lucky," the woman said, hinting at a smile for the first time in the exchange. Teclis remained stoic. Curtly nodding, he turned around and walked back over to Alaria, who was sitting on a vacant couch. 

"Come on," he said curtly. "Let's get some food. I'm hungry." 

"Sounds good to me," she agreed, rising up from her couch. "And we should find a hotel. Maybe we can go a little bit less stingy on the lodging this time?" she asked Teclis with a wry grin. He grumbled something under his breath before exiting the building with Alaria in tow. 

The day was already getting hot, the sun rising up towards its zenith. The only thing that could be worse is if it was humid, but the people of Denegrad, especially those of the desert, didn't have to put up with humidity that often. The dryness irritated the dirt roads, however, and it was impossible to walk without kicking up a storm of dust. Alaria and Teclis both resorted to covering their mouths with part of their cloaks. 

They rented a room in a hotel not a few blocks from FEEO, one of the more modern buildings in town, which would cost them 150 Gil for the night. Not exactly cheap, but Alaria had pointed out that maybe they owed it to themselves. 

Across the street from their hotel was a small restaurant type establishment, in staple form of adobe walls and insulated windows and doors. Teclis figured this as good a place as any to grab a bite to eat before going after their target, so they made their way there after reserving their room at the hotel. 

Finding themselves seated at a small square table along the eastern wall, Teclis removed the folder on their Target and the situation from his cloaks. Opening it up, he took out the papers outlining what was the cause for the hit being placed on this man, and how they would go about finding him. 

"It says he's been inhibiting the shipment of water to some of the southern towns," Teclis said. "He runs a small time crime organization that has made their money recently on hijacking water trade shipments from Halt and other Northern towns. He's been holding the trade routes for a ransom, though it doesn't say how much." 

"Of course they don't," she quipped. "If they did, they'd have to pay us somewhere in that range to get rid of him. This way, they get off charging whatever they want." 

"Still, this is a private contract," Teclis said. "Though it doesn't say who the contractor is…" 

"Interesting, but not exactly important to us getting our money. You of all people should know that, Tec," she said. 

"That still doesn't change the fact that it's odd," he said. He took a deep breath. "It says that his headquarters is suspected to be in some ruins located a few miles out into the desert south of this town." 

"You don't suppose that we should run reconnaissance first, do you?" Alaria asked. Teclis looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "…I guess not," she concluded. 

"We'll set out as soon as possible," he said. "We need some energy, then we go." 

"Today, then?" Alaria said. 

"We need to pay for that hotel," Teclis said. "But we should order now so we can get moving." 

As Teclis waved a waiter over to his table, neither of them noticed the entrance of five men in full battle gear enter the building. All of them had dark, short hair, and a pair of black sunglasses. Not even sporting cloaks to conceal the weapons and silver body armour they wore, they clamored into the building, looking for something, or someone. When metal finally clanged against other metal as their body armour creaked, Alaria's ears finally perked up. 

"Tec," she whispered, nudging her head towards the new comers. Teclis glanced over towards their direction. 

"Friends of yours?" he whispered sarcastically. 

"They look like bounty hunters," she whispered. 

"They don't happen to be the same guys from Rockhaught, do they?" 

"No, but I'm getting awfully tired of shady characters walking into bars that I'm in. All they need to do now to _really_ piss me off is come over here looking for information." 

On cue, one of the men caught sight of the blue haired duo and called over to them. 

"Teclis Spelman?" one of the men called, lifting up his sunglasses. Teclis slowly glared towards the man, not rising from his seat. 

"Who thinks their worthy enough to speak that name?" Teclis asked sneeringly. The man ignored the comment. 

"You are hereby under arrest, as ordered by the Republic of Denegrad," the man said. "Surrender yourself quietly and no battle is necessary." The people in the restaurant now were moving towards the walls and away from the seemingly impending rumble. Some inched towards the doors, others hid behind tables. 

"Why do they always _say_ stupid shit like that?!" Alaria said, jumping out of her seat and drawing her blade from the sheath on her back with a *shwing*. "I'm sick of that 'surrender quietly' routine!" 

"We have no business with you," another man said to Alaria. 

"Yeah, right," she said cockily. "Get it straight, buddy. You mess with Tec, you mess with me, too." There was some quiet tension for a moment. 

"Teclis, come with us, now," the man said. Teclis finally rose. 

"You're dirtying my name," he said bitterly, gathering Winds to his hand. "I'm going to have to clean your mouth out now…or, while I'm at it, I can clean out the rest of your insides as well..." He lowered his head and squinted his eyes. 

"You don't know who you're dealing with," the man said. 

"No," Alaria said. "I think you're confused. I don't believe you know who _ you're_ dealing with. I think _you_ should surrender if you want to avoid fighting…and bloodshed." 

"Then…" the man said, reaching to his side and drawing a long blade. "There is no choice." 

"There never is…" Teclis muttered bitterly. "Now…en guard!!" 

. 

_"It would have been too easy if both instances in the bars were tied together. No, that would have been convenient. Life has a tendency to deal cards in a slightly less convenient way. To this extent, the first time Alaria met Grev would be overshadowed by the Bounty Hunters' attack. Threat assessment is interesting in this regard. Teclis and Alaria saw the Bounty Hunter problem as more of a threat because they had already attempted damage. Grev and the others, conversely, were extremely peaceable in their approach. Where the suspicions should lie, then, became the question of the day." _–Tristan Tenser, from "The Final Analysis of the Celes Incident." 


	9. And On the Run

**Chapter 8**

**And on the Run**

Town of Halt 

Teclis shifted his eyes, glancing at his opponents from left to right. There were only five of them, but one would have to be left alive for questioning. If they were bounty hunters, that means someone must have either hired these individuals personally, or, more likely and less desirably, someone had put a price on their heads that every Freelancer in the area would want to collect on. 

He glanced over to Alaria, who was standing tentatively with her sword at the ready. She was staring menacingly at the closest man. He could feel the swirling energies of Lifestream coming up around her, something she normally reserved. Alaria did not make Lifestream Manipulation her main method of combat. He had only seen her use it under extreme aggravation…or agitation. He was guessing that this one was the latter. 

"Easy, Alaria," he whispered harshly over to her. 

"Just back me up…" she said. Without flinching, she sprung into the air with a blur, and the first man did not even see her coming, let alone lift his blade to block, as she tore him open from left shoulder to right hip. Crumbling to the ground as his innards fell to the floor, he groaned in pain, dropping his sword. His armor was not thick enough to bare the power of the Lifestream enhanced might of Alaria. 

Alaria came around in a counterclockwise spinning movement, then continued in a circle,decapitating the next man to the right. To her left, there was an attack, but a charge of lightning surged over her left shoulder, its impact marked by another scream. The scream was short lived, though, as Teclis's attack had left the source of the scream somewhat charred and very smoky. 

She continued her counterclockwise spin, using the blade to now impale the man on her farthest left, aiming right around the still falling body of the char grilled victim of Teclis's spell. Batting away his attempt to parry, she thrust her blade into his stomach and then circled it upward into his heart. Continuing it to pull up, she tore the blade through his ribcage, letting it come out of him as it shattered his left collarbone. He was dead before he hit the ground. 

The last man would not be killed. Alaria did not even get to take care of him. The remaining bounty hunter, temporarily stunned in awe as Alaria ripped through his companions, didn't even move as four knives came flying at him from Teclis's hands. With one landing above his right shoulder, one above his left, a third next to his right hip and the last next to his left hip, the man's cloak was pinned against the wall as Teclis stormed forward towards him. As Teclis reached him, the hunter found that he was met by the almost fatal closeness of Alaria's blade, sheathed save for the bottom two inches of the blade, which were at his throat. 

"Who are you working for," Teclis said bitterly, pushing him up against the wall further. "Tell me now, and you'll die painlessly." The man, while probably having thought himself a hardened fighter before this, was now only capable of wetting his pants in terror, the blood of his companions staining his face. Teclis would not accept silence as an answer. 

"Tell me!" he said. "Who hired you? Who put out the hit?" The man finally started to stutter something out. 

"Th-th-th-th hit is open," he managed to say. "It's in-in-in the name of the Government." 

"Check his hand, Alaria," Teclis said. Alaria lifted up the man's right hand, but there was no sight of a mark of any sorts, let alone a star with wings. 

"Nothing," she said, throwing the arm down and staring him in the eye. "Where did you hear about this contract?" she asked. 

"It's…n-n-n-not a hit," he said. 

"What?" Alaria and Teclis said in unison. 

"It's not for your death. It's f-f-f-f-for your arrest." 

"Why?!" Teclis hissed. "What do they want with me?" 

"I don't know!" he pleaded. "I'm just a grunt. I don't know what the cause was. I'm j-j-j-just trying to make some money.' 

"I'm going to make this simple," Teclis said. "All I want to know is where you got this job from. Who did you talk to?" It looked almost like he was lightening up…or smartening up. Slowly, he began to stutter out an answer to the question. 

"It was…I talked to-" the man was cut off by a swirling hiss, accompanied by the flight of a small three pronged bladed object into his forehead. Now dead, the man slumped downward, oblivious to the knives still holding him up. Alaria and Teclis spun around to see who the new assailant was, but the opposing window –the only place the projectile could have come from- was empty. The two let down their guard, released their breath, and calmed their tensions, for the moment, anyway. 

"Damn," Alaria said, fully sheathing her weapon and replacing it on her back. 

"I smell conspiracy," Teclis said, mocking a sniffing motion with his nose. 

"The sniper obviously wasn't after you," Alaria pointed out. 

"Or I'd be dead…" Teclis said. He sighed and sat down against the wall amongst the dead bodies. The building was now beginning to clear out now that the fighting was over, the innocent bystanders scrambling for the door. Teclis and Alaria would be sent out of the building eventually, they thought, and now they might be in trouble with the law. They probably could not even plead self-defense, as Alaria made the first move and there were many witnesses to testify to that. She was still too impetuous. 

Though, after a bit of cajoling and helping with the cleanup, Alaria convinced the owner to let them stay and have a few drinks. Luckily, the owner of the restaurant had seen the fight and had sided with Teclis and Alaria, knowing that the bounty hunters posed a threat and that her actions were well founded. In addition to saying that, he would give such a statement if questioned. Again, though, it dawned on the duo that it wasn't as if there were any law enforcers anyway, though, so it probably wouldn't come to that. It was people like Teclis and Alaria that kept the law now. How ironic that they had just broken it. 

So they stayed and had drinks. At least the restaurant was cooler than the outside. Also, taking the chance to satiate their hunger, they dined on freshly baked bread and fried fish imported from Gregor, a town on the Northern Sea. 

"I should have been more careful," Teclis said. "I forgot to keep my back covered," sipping a glass of soda as he leaned back in a wooden chair. 

"And I charged in without thinking again," Alaria added, taking a shot of the scotch in front of her. "And on top of that, I'm sure we're not going to be looked on very fondly of the townsfolk now. It's not like we were doing the town a favor by offing those guys. I bet they'd never been a problem here in the past. I don't know where they were from, but they didn't look like the rest of the locals. Something tells me that this contract really did come from farther away. But, open? Totally widespread? Can they even do that? He must be exaggerating." 

"But why would he?" Teclis said. 

"I don't know. What bothers me more is that whoever contracted those men wants them to stay quiet. That, and we don't have any traces on who that might be, save for this…" she pulled out the three pointed throwing weapon. 

"So don't you go throwing it with the rest of your toys," Teclis said to her She lightly sneered. 

"I'd like to figure out where it's from…what its made of…you know? Whoever threw this star is now at the root of our problems." 

"And I thought it was just getting paid," Teclis said sarcastically. "I guess we're going to have a hard time assassinating this guy, now that we're on the run from other Freelancers." 

Alaria shrugged, taking another shot. 

"And slow down with that," Teclis said, taking away the bottle as she was about to pour another. "I can't have you drunk while we're now on the run." 

"I'm fine," she said, wiping her lips with her forearm. "I can have some more." 

"No," he said. "You're done." She pouted as he got up and gave the bottle to the nearest employee. Grumbling for a minute, she finally got over it and got back to what was important. 

"Where do we go next, then?" she finally asked. 

"To do our job," he said. "We still have a contract to complete. We'll have to stay on guard." He glanced at his watch. "It's 2:00, now," he said. "I don't know what our chances are of getting at this guy today, but we might have to lay low while we wait to do it. When bounty hunters come, they come in droves. I wouldn't be surprised if there were more waiting just outside to ambush us…" 

. 

The duo eventually left the restaurant only to be met by dirty looks wherever they turned. They had already paid for their hotel room, so their decision was to rest there. The hotel, unlike most of the buildings in this town, was efficiently cooled, and so it would be the least heat stricken place to go. They were slightly perturbed, however, when the hotel manager would not let them go into the hotel. They were given a refund, but he apologized for not being able to serve a wanted criminal. 

Naturally, this caused some distress among Teclis and Alaria, but the manager was able to back up his statement with a wanted poster, accompanied with the neat marking of "60,000 Gil" beneath Teclis's picture. 

"Bah," Teclis said, crumpling the poster up. "We should find out who's behind this so I can slit their throat," he said bitterly, throwing the paper to the floor and spitting on it." 

"Where will we stay?" Alaria asked the manager. He gave an apathetic shrug. 

"I don't house criminals," he said. "You're welcome to stay here, young lady, if you want." Alaria frowned. 

"I _want_ you to tell me where else we can get a room so you can lose our business," she said, leaning on the counter that separated them. "Now, are you going to tell me, or not?" The manager looked at the ground. 

"Just leave, please," he said. Alaria grunted. Teclis was stoic. 

"Come on," Teclis said. "Let's just go. There's bound to be someplace in this town that we can go to." 

"Humph," Alaria muttered, turning her nose up at the manager. "Fine," she said. "Let's go." Turning around, she left the building, Teclis following, out of the cool hotel and into the dusty, dry street. 

The street was crowded with people. A few blocks away, they could hear the sounds of the market place where vendors were hawking their wares, trying to make enough money to buy food and water. This far out, the dust from the ground that was kicked up at the market was still in the air, stinging their eyes and making breathing hard. It was 2:30, which was the hottest time of the twenty six hour days here 

"What a jerk," Alaria said, as they began to walk down the street in search of different lodging. "That's what you get for 150 Gil a night, I guess," she said sarcastically. 

"Hmm…" Teclis mused. Suddenly, he stopped walking. 

"What?" 

"It looks like lodging isn't the majority of our troubles," Teclis said. "Look over there…" he indicated to his left, where three men in armor were talking to one of the townsfolk, who was generously pointing in Teclis's direction. 

"We should get out of here," Alaria said. "It's not good to start a fight with this many people around." Teclis nodded in agreement. 

"Let's make for the town wall. We'll see if they follow us out of town. If they do, then we can take care of them without the crowds. I have an odd feeling that this won't be the last time we deal with hunters. Expect a lot more until we find some place to hide." 

"Where can we go?" Alaria asked. 

"I'm not sure…" Teclis admitted. "There has to be somewhere, though." Alaria brought her hand to her chin in thought. Then, her eyes lit up in epiphany, her hand shooting into the air. 

"I have it!" she said. "There's a Nisai Ryu Monastery a few hikes to the east of here. We can go there. They'll give us sanctuary. They might be a little sore about letting you in because you're a male, but I bet we can pull something off, especially since you have blue hair. Actually…come to think of it, I believe requirement for entry to the school was simply blue hair. I don't think it had anything to do with being female." 

"Then that sounds like a plan," Teclis agreed. "From there, we can formulate what to do next. However…those guys are coming over to us now. We should probably make haste." 

"Right," she agreed, swirling her cloak around her and walking towards the east wall of the town. Each of them occasionally looked back to see if they were being followed, and sure enough, that same trio of bounty hunters was still after them. In attempt to cover their hair, –a dead give away as to their position- both of them pulled their hoods over their heads, concealing the blue signatures. 

They pushed through the crowds, trying to lose their followers in the market place bustle, but even with their hair covered, they realized one more thing: they were the only ones wearing black. All of the townsfolk were wearing shades of white, light brown at the darkest, in trying to reflect as much heat as possible. Teclis and Alaria, preferring the mysterious look –to an extent, anyway-, were the only ones that were wearing black cloaks in the heat of the desert sun. As a result, the hunters continued to follow them unhindered. 

The East Gate was a simple affair, being merely an archway in the adobe walls that surrounded the village. Teclis and Alaria made it there after a few more minutes of walking, and quickly made speed in splitting up and hiding against the outside edges of the wall, taking momentary cover from their assailants. What little the afternoon sun provided in the form of shadows was conveniently shading them. 

"Let us get out of sight," Teclis said, gathering a short burst of magical power and surrounding himself and Alaria with it. They lightly touched off the ground, floating upward and on top of the wall, where they would remain hidden. 

Their followers protruded from the gateway with a look of confusion. Baffled, they checked to the left and the right, even gazing backwards to see if they had missed their targets, but the duo was out of their vision. After half a minute of useless searching and cursing, the bounty hunters finally gave up with heaving shrugs and went back into the town. Only when they had retreated for a few minutes did Teclis and Alaria remove themselves from their cover. 

Removing the hood of his cloak, Teclis sighed, saying: "We should get going as soon as possible." 

"This is one instance which I'm going to agree with you on, Tec," Alaria said. "Though it looks like we'll be going by foot this time." 

"It'll only be about an hour's walk, if it's just a few hikes, and if we speed it up with magic, it'll be faster." The Winds gathered to Teclis's hands once again as he and Alaria began to hover three inches above the ground. Pointing in the direction he wanted to go, they shot forward at roughly twenty miles an hour, making headway towards the Monastery. 

Teclis was using a spell commonly employed for transporting multiple people to a destination. Unlike individual floatation spells such as Levitation, Teclis used a variant on a Rei Wing spell in order to provided a 'pocket' of air around Alaria and himself, and then manipulate it to send them forward. The advantage of this was, of course, that both of them could be transported at once, and due to the movement of the air that creates the pocket, the inside of their transport bubble was much cooler than the stifling dessert air. 

They flew across the sandy shores of the North Denegrad desert, though they were still clear of the heavier sand dunes, which were located further South. As a result, there were occasional patches of green grass, and the gradual fade where the sand interfaced with the grasslands of the North was never out of sight. As they flew a few hikes from Halt, a small series of hills and small mountains, mostly plateaus, came into view. As they headed east, the desert that was south of them was becoming more and more harsh, with the growing mountain features become more pronounced. In this area were these slowly rising mountains, and the Nisai Ryu Monastery. The ground in this geographical zone, known as the Dry Hills, was cracked due to lack of water, causing almost a jagged tile effect on the areas that were flat. The canyons created by either dried up rivers or fissures in the Celes crust were not to much unlike the Grand Canyon on Earth. These canyons stretched Southward for a few hundred miles, forming the eastern wall on the Central Denegrad Desert. On the other side of the Dry Hills, there was a small stretch of grassland before one reached the coast. 

The Monastery was located in the side of one of the Canyons, for isolation purposes, as Alaria explained. People rarely became involved in the Nisai Ryu by stumbling on the Monasteries (though it was not unheard of), but typically came to the school through some other medium. Often, people were found in regular society and recruited. Other stories flourish that the Nisai Ryu Ninjas would rob the cribs of young children, stealing them away to become assassins in the ancient art of Lifestream Projection. Still others say that important Ithilmarian families will send their girls to these schools so that they may be trained in the Nisai Ryu arts. More than likely, it is a combination of all of these, with yet even further explanations available. Granted, only the most important leaders of the organization actually know where all of their adepts come from, or what they are actually being trained for, but they will probably not be interested in disclosing their secret. 

Teclis and Alaria reached the actual monastery after a solid two hours of flying, making the original estimate of time slightly off. Alaria's distance perception of only a 'few hikes' was somewhat skewed, as forty had never really struck Teclis as a 'few.' On top of all of this, casting a spell for a sustained two hours is somewhat draining, and Teclis, while not ready to admit it, was very tired when they came upon the stairway that led to the monastery gates. This stairway, dug right out of the earth in perfect form, stretched up about one hundred feet, the total stair count being roughly two hundred. Alaria sensed Teclis's exhaustion, though, and finally offered to provide the transportation. 

Alaria had never really liked Lifestream Projection, as she didn't grasp the concept all that well. Something about drawing on other people's life force bothered her, and it only seemed like they would be pissing somebody off by doing it. Never the less, it would also serve to signal those inside that a Nisai Ryu was at the gates, if the Lifestream was picked up. 

She had to concentrate deeply as small strands of green energy seeped up from the ground and spiraled around her and Teclis. The strands sparked with power as they grew in size and speed, eventually lifting the two of them off of the ground and carrying them ethereally up into the air and over the steps, where they set down at the top landing. 

The top landing of the stairs and the gate to the monastery were very ornate, appearing to have existed for longer than either of the travelers could care to remember or think about. Intricate carvings of animals and symbols covered the floor, from the gate in front of them to the stairs behind them. The last stairs were flanked on either side by a dark stone statue of a winged figure, though it looked very humanoid, almost like an angel. A similar figure was drawn on either side of the twenty feet high doors that marked the entry to the monastery. The rock wall seemed to envelop the area around the gate. 

The gate itself was a set of double doors, both the frame and the doors themselves engraved with similar runes and pictograms as the rest of the entryway was. There were no handles on these doors, nor did Alaria know how to get them open. On the ground below them, there were no markings that would have been made by the stone doors grinding on the floor, so they were left to believe that the doors must open inward. Deep shadowing marked the outline of the door, a result of the heavy carvings. Above the door the words: "_Halus Viavius Geminus Jallar" _ were printed, though neither teen was able to decipher them.

The rocks walls ranged in colors from light yellow to deep red, appearing to be a sedimentary pattern. On close inspection, it could be seen that the gate was actually carved directly out of the rock, the vestiges of the rock's coloring still slightly visible under the intricate carvings that filled the wall. The landing also appeared to be carved out of the rock as well, making this whole temple blend in to the mountain side with beautiful inconspicuousness. 

Teclis and Alaria both jumped when the doors began to slide open, grinding inward. The inside of the temple slowly became clear to them as the darkness spilled outward and the light spilled in, casually illuminating the entry way. No one was visible on the inside of the entryway, though, as the doors appeared to be moving of their own volition. 

"We…go in?" Teclis asked as the doors finally stopped grinding open and the two of them were standing on the landing, dumbfounded. 

"I guess," Alaria said with a shrug. "I suddenly find myself blanking as to all of the formalities that are involved, though." 

"No matter," Teclis said, sweeping his cloak behind him. "Let's just go in and see what happens. Either way, it'll be a good hiding place from those hunters until we can come up with a more effective method of escape." 

"Right," Alaria agreed. The two of them stood there for a minute looking at each other, and then to the door. 

"You…going first?" Teclis finally asked. 

"Umm…fine," she said, realizing that they had both been waiting for the other to make the first move. Taking a deep breath, she stepped forward with her left foot, then followed with her right, suddenly feeling as if she was learning to walk all over again. She plunged into the entry, Teclis following with a slight delay. 

Then, things suddenly became familiar again. She walked into the monastery and she could see a few people spread out about the vast entry room, balancing on toes or practicing movements with their weapons. It was as if most of them didn't even notice the entrance of the new guests. Granted, they would soon be greeted by the Grand Master of the monastery, who was just now passing through the main room. The large rock walls supported by granite pillars echoed of memories of years past. The images on the ceiling suddenly felt familiar and the feeling of the stone floor felt good against her boots. Even the air was the exact temperature as she remembered from her own monastery. Even though it was in a different location than before, Alaria was home. 

. 

_"The Nisai Ryu was, for the most part, a clan of ninjas. In fact, that's what I thought it was the entire time. The delicate inner workings of the organizations, though, were kept under close wraps, and I don't doubt that only perhaps several of their entire active body actually knew what it was for. At any rate, they certainly had their knack of tying themselves up in complicated affairs and then untangling themselves just as easily" -_Jack McKlane, on the Nisai Ryu 


	10. Crystain and Captors

**Chapter 9**

**Crystain and Captors**

In Lyons… 

The War Room in the Lyons Imperial Capitol seemed like the room in every house that is kept as fancy as possible for the one or two times a year it actually sees use. The large glazed mahogany table took about a quarter of the floor space, centered over a large red and gold rug. The walls were adorned with similar red and gold hangings and the trim of the doors matched the mahogany of the table. The Lyons crest was blazon above every entrance, and once again in the form of an engraving on the middle of the table. 

Around the large table, within the large room, sat the Council of Lyons, ready to begin a military conference regarding their next move on the Denegrad front. The Council consisted of about twenty members, headed by the Primarch (a King-like figure elected from a body of higher aristocracy) of Lyons, the Lord Rama de Gallione the Third. 

It was unknown just how much power Lord Rama still held. His rise to the throne was one that has long been clouded in obscurity and mystery. The one thing he maintained was that he was a powerful speaker and motivator of men, albeit not so great a military leader. He didn't need to be a general, though. That was what M-1 was for. 

Along with him on the Council were the five Councilmen representing the five states of Lyons, their individual names being unimportant. There were three more representatives that served M-1 itself, the degradation of the Lyons government showing in that foreigners were on the highest legislative body in the Country. 

Three men hailed from the Apostle of Griever Church, another sign that Lyons was no longer totally being run by the people who established it. The Church had long been a tool used by Lyons for advisors, it being an extremely influential belief system in the country. One of the men here today, Arch Bishop Vincent Clarit, was second only to the Cardinal Lucas Gravada in control of the entire Archdiocese of the Griever Sect. 

Vincent Clarit was a tall, lanky man with deep set, beady eyes and a drawn nose. His darkly colored eyebrows contradicted the grayness that made up his hair. His position made him one of the most powerful men in the areas that Griever had a strangle hold over. His only superior in the Chuch, Cardinal Gravada, was an older man, so many even looked at him as the _most_ powerful, with his only commander sometimes seeming to aged to truly make decisions. 

The Primarchs of Lyons had long since been members of the Griever Church, and it had long been clear to those running the government that Griever was gaining more and more influence over the political leaders of the country. What Griever intended to do with all this power was unknown, but interestingly enough, they were becoming competitors over this power with M-1. Lately, then, there had been a tripod of control holding up Lyons, consisting of the balance of the Church, the foreign military force, and the original ruling body. 

The remaining eight chairs to the Council were those who had been elected by the first twelve members. This effectively made the Council consist of those elected by the people, the one elected by the aristocracy, those elected by the elected, and those chosen by foreign forces: a tricky balance of agendas to maintain. Nonetheless, the Council continued to attempt it. 

"They say the other has been discovered in Denegrad," a hissing voice said from the section among the State representatives. "This proves more difficult than we had hoped." 

"Still," another voice said. "We can't reduce our efforts. He must be apprehended as well." 

"And what of the first one? This…Tyrion. Has he been examined yet?" came the voice of Lord Rama. 

"Battle data is the first priority," an M-1 representative said. "And even when he is…opened up…it is none of your concern. Remember your place in this deal." The Lord Rama closed his eyes and lowered his head, returning to silence. 

"How do we go about apprehending the second?" the voice of Bishop Clarit said. "Speed remains of the utmost, but the bounty we have placed on his head has not proven an effective means of capture. The Denegrad government is beginning to disapprove. We're not sure how long they'll keep the Open Bounty active." 

"Those dammed liberals," the Griever Sect man next to the Bishop said. "It would have been easier if they had just accepted. It makes things so much more difficult that they can't know what we need the child for. Lies, while safe, are not always the most effective." 

"They wouldn't understand anyway," an M-1 person said. "They're…simple." 

"Or uninformed," a Lyons official said. "It's not their fault." 

"They have, however, seemed to show other interests in the boy," Clarit continued. "It seems that they had dispatched the En'Kai." 

"I have an idea," said a new voice. "To kill two birds with one stone, if you may. If M-1 needs combat data, why not use Tyrion to capture his brother? He won't know. We can see how Tyrion functions in combat, see how he interfaces with Cyoren, and bring the other under control with one set of orders. Cyoren will be able to record the information for us to extract." 

"Problem being, what if one kills the other?" and M-1 man said. "We've seen some of Tyrion's energy signals from the night when he originally outran us. He wouldn't have any trouble killing his brother if it came to that." 

"But what of the other?" 

"I believe his name is Teclis," someone said. 

"Aye, then. What of Teclis? We don't know of his power, yet, save from what little information we have gained from those dammed Saidiar." 

"His power is apparent…but his strength is clearly more in magical aptitude. I certainly do wonder how quickly Tyrion could rip him apart if given the chance…" one particularly sadistic Councilman said, followed by a quick cackle from his direction. 

"Not a viable option," a voice of M-1 said. "If we don't have both of the twins, we may as well not have either." 

"Then what do we do?" 

"We call in our trump card," someone said. "That should take care of Teclis's apprehension. As far as Tyrion…" 

"We'll give him something light," an M-1 representative said. "We don't need him killed. Nisai Ryu may be a school of war, but it is not a school of M-1. We don't know how he'll actually fare under actual combat." 

"Settled, then," Lord Rama said, speaking up again. "M-1 can proceed with Tyrion's battle testing," he turned to the M-1 representatives. "And once we acquire this Teclis, our end of the deal is fulfilled." He was met with a grim nod from one of the M-1 people. 

"As we originally agreed," the apparent leader of the M-1 delegation to the Council said. "And we always keep our word…" 

. 

Back at the Monastery 

Alaria wandered ahead of Teclis into the forum before her, glancing all around. Ahead of her, an elderly man dressed in blue and gold robes, sporting long gray hair tied into a ponytail was walking in their direction. The people in the main hall were just now noticing that new people had entered the hall. Some of them continued to practice, swinging weapons and hands in a very ornate, showy style that the Nisai Ryu was made of. Some of the techniques and moves even defied proper explanation, let alone laws of physics which they seemed to defy. 

This was mostly do to the ethereal nature of the Nisai Ryu and Lifestream. The Nisai Ryu are constantly enhancing their own abilities, breaking the very laws of gravity at times, in order to perform moves which are capable of amazing martial assault. On top of this, upon reaching maturity, each ninja of the Nisai Ryu will begin to adapt the style to their own needs, tweaking individual moves slightly to their own appeal. In essence, every single member of the clan practiced their own individual style with signature movements and techniques, so that no one ninja was ever the same. For this reason, half a world away, Tristan Tenser was unable to identify the exact style of combat that Tyrion Mandrake had used on him, even though he recognized the general style as that of Nisai Ryu from records that Lucia the Warrior had given the LEA. 

"It's so good to be back…" Alaria sighed out loud. 

"I thought you said you'd never been here before," Teclis said bitterly. "How are you 'back' to a place you've never been?" 

"I don't know, really," she admitted. "I haven't been here before, but it just seems so much like my own monastery that…" 

"And children of the Nisai Ryu are welcome everywhere," came the voice of the man walking up to them. "That is what we were founded on. It makes no difference what monastery you were from. A Nisai Ryu is always at home in one of these ancient places." 

"My name is Alaria Greywind," she said to the man as he approached them. "I am from the Khandi Forest Monastery." 

The man looked at the two newcomers up and down, all the while examining the very forces that permeated their being. This technique, known as a Life Scan allowed a skilled Lifestream reader to examine the person before them in great detail, from history to ability. The very best at this skill, which the man before them apparently was, could perform it without the subjects even knowing they were being examined. 

"Welcome to the Monastery of the Dry Hills: Casthaven," the man responded. "I am Grand Master Hrata. It is good to have one of our children home again. Tell me, have you come seeking further training?" 

"Umm…this is Teclis Spelman," Alaria said, motioning to Teclis. The man glanced Teclis up and down, taking in his features. 

"Interesting…" Grand Master Hrata mused. "His hair is most unusual. For a male, that is." 

"Blue?" Teclis asked, somewhat sarcastically. Hrata nodded. 

"I've never seen it in a male before. Some even say that a Blue Haired male is a foreboding omen…" he said, trailing off, surfacing a grin. "But we don't believe in such nonsense. Please, follow me, and allow us to become better acquainted. We sensed your use of Lifestream at the base of the Mountain. We have prepared some food for you." Not considering the depth of his statement, they followed him into the monastery, happy to be receiving some food. 

The humidity within the building was astounding, considering the lack of moisture outside. It wasn't quite damp, but the cool, moist air seemed to bring about a feeling of refreshment to the two travelers. The tunnels that made up the halls in the monastery were mostly dimly lit with torches hanging from the walls, though they simply made way by following Master Hrata. 

He led them, as promised, to a room with food. It was mostly barren save for a low set table with no chairs. Around the table were pillows where it seemed they were to sit. It was reasonably bright, with many candles illuminating the portrayal of ancient battle scenes engraved on the walls. On the table itself, there was a semi-generous helping of breads, fruits, and some meat, along with some brown sauce of sorts held in small cup shaped bowls. Hrata motioned for the guests to sit down, he himself sitting on one side of the rectangular table and Alaria and Teclis taking seats on the opposing side. 

"You said you sensed the use of Lifestream when we entered?" Teclis remarked. "How easy is that to pick up on?" 

"You're an elemental mage, aren't you?" Hrata asked. 

"I specialize in Ethereal, or Wind Magic, and Black Magic," Teclis rebuked. "The title of 'elemental' mage is insulting." Hrata laughed. 

"We use Lifestream energy in two ways," he said. 

"We use the energy of the planet in our own bodies, and the energy of the planet from the spirit _of_ the planet," Alaria said. 

"Nisai Ryu does not use any other form of magical manipulation. To sense the projection and use of Lifestream is not a difficult task for those who have attuned themselves to understanding it. From the looks of it, I could even say that this young woman here is skilled at using it, but doesn't utilize it in situations that don't strictly require it." 

"You can tell that by just sensing the energy?" Alaria said. 

"I can tell by reading your spirit energy," he said. "The Lifestream that is making up your spirit right now. That is what _it_ is telling me." 

"Interesting," Teclis admitted. "I know very little about Lifestream. Black magic is more powerful, of course, but one should always seek new knowledge." 

"You seem that confident of Black Magic's power?" Hrata asked. Teclis grimly nodded. The Grandmaster mildly grinned and closed his eyes. As he did, a wind seemed to blow lightly through the room and Teclis shivered almost as if he was cold. 

"What are you doing?" he shot, jumping out of his chair. Quickly, though, the wind died down. 

"Can your Black Magic protect you from the forces that are after you?" Hrata asked. "Because it seems that is what you seek." 

"Amazing…" Alaria said. "He can read your spirit energy so deftly. 

"A cheap trick," Teclis muttered, sitting down again. "I can make the wind blow and state the obvious as well." Absently, he reached onto the table and placed some bread on his plate. Again, the Grand Master chuckled. 

"So bitter," he said. "There is no need for it." 

"There's always a need to be bitter," Teclis said in response. "The alternative is less than pleasing. At least when you're bitter, you know how people react to you. It's better than having to guess how people visualize you. I'd much rather be left with the obvious choice." Teclis briefly considered Hrata's comical approach to his bitterness. As far as Teclis was concerned, he had every right to be as bitter as he wanted. His life had been hard enough, even up until this point. To go around and suggest that people suddenly change their manner of behaving is overly presumptuous of one's own confidence. That, if anything, bothered him. 

Hrata chucked again, causing Alaria to laugh as well. She got a kick out of anyone who could put Teclis in his place and laugh about it in the process. She had been trying to do it for years. She figured that was truly what made Hrata a Grand Master of anything. The Nisai Ryu demand constant training and control of all aspects of one's body. They were all getting ready to fight something, though none of them knew what it was. Coming to realization of what was needed of you was what separated teachers and students. Someone like Alaria was only there to learn, at the moment. This Hrata, however, seemed to laugh at what destiny he held in his hand, if indeed there was such a thing as destiny for one like Alaria. 

"I heard a story," Hrata said, "a very long time ago about a boy with incredible powers who was lost from his parents at a young age and was forced to fend for himself in the world. He suffered for many years, barely surviving the cruel treatment that people dispense to vagabonds. Through this trial, he eventually became greater, though very cold and world weary. He decided that the person that was to blame was his father and he began to search for him in order to do battle with him. But, as he journeyed in search of this father, he came to the realization that fighting was not the answer to his problems, but instead, he should calm himself by helping others with his powers. It is said that when he came to this conclusion, he had found God, and he began to teach other people this as well." 

"Adrekel…" Alaria said. "The Son of God himself. The one who founded the Griever Church." Teclis coughed. 

"You'll have to excuse me if I'm not much of a religious person," he grunted, gathering some food from the table and onto his plate. "But what do such ramblings about Adrekel have to do with us." Hrata closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath. He slowly rose from the table and began to pace around the room. 

"It means that you should take a lesson from Adrekel and study the way in which he lived. This does not mean that you need to help people to solve your problem, but be wary of the fact that fighting is not always the answer." He paused briefly. "There is something you are looking for, is there not, Teclis? An answer to where you came from, perhaps? You yourself don't really know…do you?" Teclis shivered again as he thought he felt the wind that had swept through the room before. After a moment, though, he realized that this was different. No one else in the room could feel it other than him. It was cold and stung bitterly. He recognized it immediately. He had felt if all too often before. 

"The Black Wind is not something that you Lifestream Mages can control," Teclis spat, reeling from the shock of the wind. "I know not how you bring it upon me, but think not for a second that you know anything more about me than I tell you." He rose from his seat and looked down at Alaria. "Speak to this man about what we need. I am going to have a look about. I don't need to stand here and be told how to live my life." With that, he spun around and stormed out of the room, his cape kicking up in a whirlwind of excitement as he turned. Alaria then sat with Hrata in a momentary silence as she nibbled away at some of the food on her plate. The candles flickered as Teclis's presence exited the immediate area. 

"He's not normally that grouchy," Alaria said, finally. "You'll have to excuse him. He's one of those people who has to be straight and to the point. He doesn't really like to talk about philosophical things like that. You understand, I hope?" Hrata could hardly help but leave the same grin on his face. 

"He's certainly a unique one, isn't he? Tell me, though. You have to have noticed certain traits of his that mark him different from any other man." 

"How so?" Hrata once again sat down next to Alaria. "I mean, _ besides_ the fact that he's a blue haired male who harnesses black magic with higher aptitude than anyone, his peers and elders alike?" 

"You catch on, don't you?" he asked. Alaria sighed deeply. 

"Teclis is definitely unique, though I don't know what makes him so." Hrata leaned forward and looked at her. Pausing, he drew in breath. 

"Can I tell you something frankly?" Hrata asked. 

"Sure." 

"And you _are_ studied in religion, so this should make sense to you. Keep in mind that I'm not saying that this is correct, but it is something that should be consider-" 

"Let's hear it then," she said, cutting him off and surprising herself in a spurt of impatience that resembled that of her blue haired partner. Hrata closed his eyes and leaned back in his chair. Arching his back, he placed his hands behinds his head and clasped his fingers there. Looking up to the ceiling again, he reopened his eyes and exhaled softly. 

"They say that the messengers that will bring news of Adrekel's return will come in the form of two men, but these two men will be different from anything that the world had seen before. They will be Twins bound by Destiny itself, born against the odds by supernatural forces in the body of a human from the Empire of Ithilmar." Alaria cocked her head to the side before stifling a laugh 

"You…you think Teclis is an Avatar of Adrekel?" she said, laughing again. 

"Not only that," Hrata said, continuing to maintain seriousness. "I think that it's the reason he has people after him." 

Alaria stopped laughing and raised an eyebrow. 

"What does _that_ mean?" Alaria asked. 

"Consider it briefly," Hrata said. "What happens if Teclis is what is described in the Holy Text? Surely that would explain his extraordinary powers. And then consider if he has a brother somewhere, and that brother is located as well." 

"Then it would mark the completion of the prophecy," Alaria said in a hush whisper. "But why would someone want to stop that?" 

"Not just anyone, Alaria," Hrata said. "The Griever Church and all the nations in the world." 

"But why?" 

"Think of the panic that could be caused if people suddenly started to predict the end of the world. While there is some discrepancy as far as the timeframe goes, the Avatars are said to make themselves known one year before the End of the World. Consider briefly the chaos that would ensue if people expected Armageddon. And then, consider what would ensue if nothing happened. If it got out as to what Teclis might be, and then nothing occurred, the Griever Sect would look like fools. Religion is politics, Alaria. They are the same thing. Does this make sense to you?" 

"I guess…" she said, slightly bewildered but mostly skeptical. "Something tells me that Teclis is not a religious prophet," she said. "He can barely stand when I even speak of my religion." 

"No one said that the Avatar would be what he is by choice, young one." Hrata looked up. "Tell me. Has he ever mentioned a feeling like he is being pulled somewhere against his will. Maybe like something is happening and he knows that he is a part of it, but he doesn't know how, or why. He only know that he needs to go to where it is going to occur and then let destiny take control." 

"Grand Master…" Alaria said, chuckling softly. "Teclis doesn't even mention that he feels like he's being pulled somewhere when I'm physically _ dragging_ him with me. He would never admit to being weak enough to succumb to something as 'trivial' as destiny." 

Hrata looked at Alaria quixotically, raising an eyebrow and almost sighing. He slowly rose from his seat and extended his hand out to Alaria. After a pause where she looked at him in slight confusion, she took his hand and helped herself up off of the ground. 

"You're nothing less than unique yourself, aren't you?" he asked her rhetorically. Alaria could only motion a shrug as she reached down and grabbed what she could off of the table to eat while Hrata led her wherever he might be ready to take her. 

"Maybe Tec rubs off on me," she said, stuffing some food into the pouch at her hip. "Though I don't know what makes me different from anyone in Nisai Ryu." 

"Are you sure you're not?" Hrata asked inquisitively. "I mean, are you _so_ sure you're not so different from anyone else in this widespread clan of ninjas? That's merely what we are, isn't it? You've never considered a greater purpose for yourself?" Alaria cocked her head back and let out a deep breath. 

"Don't get weird on me, Master," she said. "I don't need anymore confusion for one day." The Grand Master slowly nodded his head. He briefly considered something before coming to a conclusion. 

"Do you wish to see something interesting?" he asked finally. Alaria shrugged. 

"Sure," she said. "While we're in the area it couldn't hurt. Besides, the walk will give me a chance to fill you in on our story…without the philosophical addendums." Hrata nodded and motioned towards the hallway they had entered the room from. 

"Then come," he said. "We haven't much time…" As they exited the room with the food, back into the dimly lit corridor, the candles in the other room became extinguished, as if on their own. Hrata led Alaria further through the building, already seeming to have forgotten about Teclis and concentrating deeply on his goal. As they walked, Alaria spoke of her recent journeys with Teclis, finally asking if he knew anything about a group who used a star with wings as their symbol. 

"Hmm…" Hrata mused with a hand to his chin. "Yes, I have, come to think of it. It was many years ago that it was brought to my attention. I believe they are called the Saidiar, or, Seekers of Freedom." 

"So, what do they do?" Alaria asked, somewhat impatiently. Hrata seemed to try to think hard in order to remember something. 

"I believe they are against Ithilmarian influence on Denegrad and the other surface nations. Sort of a rebellion group. These are…the men that approached you in the restaurant that one time?" 

"Yes," Alaria said. "But, that doesn't explain anything…" she shrugged it off and continued to follow Hrata through the building until they finally entered a type of shrine. 

Unlike many of the walls made simply of rock through the rest of the building, the walls here were coated in a gold-colored tile, the room forming an even cube. On the far end of the room was a marble alter with pillar-like bases running around it. The top of the alter was also trimmed in gold and was supporting a wooden rack which, in turn, was carrying what looked like a sword gripped in an ornate sheath. From the base of the alter to the entrance of the room ran a red carpet. 

"Tell me, Alaria," he said, walking up the carpet and to the sheathed blade on the alter. "Have you ever heard of a Lavoid?" 

"A what-oid?" Alaria asked, wincing at the unfamiliar word. 

"A Lavoid," Hrata repeated. Alaria again shook her head. Slowly, Hrata extended his hand to the sheathed weapon on the alter, removing it from the rack and gently taking the sheath off, placing it to the side. The blade that was revealed was a marvel to behold. Every single thing about it was intricately beautiful in an extremely deadly sort of way. 

From the handle to the hilt, the blade alternated in colors between silver and bronze, with gold tendrils running around the entirety of it. The hilt extended outward and then further up into four spikes, two pointing up, two pointing down, each on the corners of the crossbar. The blade itself, however, defied explanation with any terms that Alaria had known at this point. 

It was a blue, but it wasn't any one shade of blue. In some portions, it was deep ocean blue, and in others it was milky blue, all the while always making a smooth transition between colors. Through it streaked shots of white in zigzag patterns making it look like streaks of lightning. The blade appeared to be doubled edged, but it was hard to tell due to the peculiar coloring. The edge of the blade was, however, given an ornate carving, though never seeming extreme, making the weapon look all the more elegant. 

"What is this?" Alaria finally asked, after examining the weapon for nearly a minute. 

"This is a weapon made of a substance we call Crystain," he said. "We call them Phase Swords, mostly due to the inherent nature of the blade." 

"And that would be?" 

"We call them as such because Crystain is slightly phased out of the material plane of existence. They also lie on the astral, or spirit plane. When you hit someone with a Phase Sword, you attack not only their physical body, but their spiritual one as well." He quickly snapped the sword up and made three quick swipes through the air with it. The air seemed to momentarily ring before the blade was recoiled and he fluidly returned it to its sheath. "Crystain is the key, Alaria. Remember that." 

"I…don't understand," Alaria said. "What it the importance of this." As she looked at him, she thought she heard rumbling in the distance, but shrugged it off as unimportant. Hrata, however, didn't seem to think this mysterious rumbling, which resonated more of a feel than a sound, to be so unimportant, as he quickly took on a hasty speaking tone. 

"The importance is this, Alaria Greywind, and listen closely because our time together is growing tragically thin." Hrata said, taking the sheathed blade and handing it to her hastily. Around, the rumbling noise appeared to be getting louder. Away from their location, voices shouted in alarm. There was a familiar grinding noise, and it took Alaria a moment to recognize it before she finally realized what it was: the door to the Monastery was opening. Someone was coming in. In fact, it was many someones. The sound of boots against the stone floor came rapidly, but whoever was moving through the main chamber was good at what they did. Their movements were swift and what represented itself as a light tapping against the floor signified that they moved carefully. 

Hrata looked at Alaria in the eyes. "You must search for yourself the answers to the question that you and Teclis have. Take this weapon and make your way towards Ithilmar. There you will learn about the Lavoids and what there is to be done about it." 

"What is the rush?" Alaria said, startled. "What's happening?" 

"The En'Kai!" Hrata said. "They are here to look for Teclis! You can hear them now as the main doors are opening! It is out of my position to stop them!" He closed his eyes and waved his hands in a circular motion, and Alaria nearly jumped when Teclis suddenly appeared in front of them. Upset as his abrupt and un-consented teleportation, Teclis glared at Hrata. 

"What is the meaning of this?!" he growled. 

"Your life is as stake," Hrata said simply. "I will teleport you away from here before they reach you." 

"Who?" Teclis queried, but already he could hear voices in the outer halls asking for a blue haired boy. 

"Trust him," Alaria said, putting a hand on his shoulder and smiling. "And trust me." Teclis shook his head. 

"Some Sanctuary," Teclis muttered sarcastically, glaring at Hrata. "Fine. Do what you will." He crossed his hands over his chest and snorted. Hrata looked at the two of them. 

"Remember what I have told you," he said to Alaria. She nodded. The voices outside were almost upon them now. They were shouting orders and directions. 

Hrata closed his eyes and muttered a few words. He outstretched his hands as the whip of Lifestream filled the room, its refreshing wave of power seeming to rejuvenate Teclis and Alaria, who lifted their heads to the sky as their hair was swept up in a mass of wind. A green glow surrounded them and there was a flash from _within_ Hrata as he resolved his spell. Then, a spiraling sensation flew through the two travelers as they were sucked up into a void that had never truly appeared. 

They disappeared just as ten black clad and heavily armed soldiers entered the room with guns at the ready. 

. 

_"I knew she was the one before I even scanned her Life Force. The fact that she was with him was reason enough." _–Grand Master Hrata of the Nisai Ryu 


	11. Past Recollections

**Chapter 10**

**Past Recollections**

At the M-1 Compound 

The principle of Armour warfare is that with greater power in the hand of each individual, fewer individuals are needed. If one person can be transformed into an artillery battery, then the extra people that would otherwise be used to operate this said battery are unneeded. It was on this foundation that M-1 was formed: that the actions of many could be now conducted by few. With this, they were able to cut off the 'lesser' soldiers, increasing the general ability of the common soldier, and create an elite team of mercenaries. 

Their current contract with Lyons was different from most in the fact that it required attention of the entire organization, as they were basically functioning as a standing army. Unlike normal 'one shot' deals, this was highly irregular. All other normal functioning of the organization had been put on temporary hold, and all active combat-ready agents of M-1 were stationed in the Lyons area. 

There was no doubt that M-1 was a superior force to most of the Denegrad military. The past years of war had proven that. The only force that had been able to match M-1 was Denegrad's own superior fighting force that called themselves the En'Kai. These soldiers were able to defeat M-1 at times mostly due to their reputation for altering the 'rules' that are normally engaged in armed warfare. These rules, of course, were rewritten with the advent of the Armour, but by throwing new tactics into the works, they were able to hold M-1 back at times. Where these ideas came from, however, was a mystery, as rumors abounded of the En'Kai not actually being led by someone from Denegrad. 

Another aspect of Armour warfare is that there were generally fewer casualties, as there were fewer units involved. Also, what would make up an injury that might take an Armour out of action might not actually kill the pilot. With all of these factors added together, M-1's need to replace casualties was not that great. 

M-1 had both a training school and a recruitment service for enlisting new members to fight. However, neither of these establishments had been overworked to find new soldiers. This led to, over the course of the last six months or so, what was actually becoming an increase in the total standing army of M-1; this being an anomaly in a time of war. So, that someone as high in the works of the organization as Kallar would find someone off of the street to bring them into service did not just strike Lina Esrevni as against normal procedures, it struck her as downright peculiar. 

As she paced down the halls with Tyrion just at her heels, if she didn't make her displeasure of being assigned a menial task obvious in her speaking, her walking was making it even more clear. Tyrion, who stood nearly a good foot taller than her, looked awfully funny being towed around like a pet. 

The halls seemed oddly vacant for a military institution. Aside from three men that ran past them once, they had not encountered anyone on their passage towards the would-be living quarters for Tyrion. Granted, those three men had been running at a good pace, obviously in a rush to get somewhere, but otherwise, the silence between the two blue-haired teens was only made more painful by the lack of other activity in the hall. 

The halls of the living quarters area of the compound were a dull green-blue, only marred by the black doors which occasionally blotted the walls. On the ceiling, uncovered pipes and tubes ran across the unfinished, darkened alcoves above them, carrying with them the strange rumblings of the station that had been reduced to a mere buzz in this area. 

"How much farther is it?" Tyrion finally asked, tired of both the walking and the awkward silence with someone who he knew he would eventually have to get along with. 

"Not much," Lina said abruptly. Then, without warning, she stopped in her tracks, Tyrion nearly tripping over her. Turning her head first, then the rest of her body, she spun around to face the taller young man, crossing her arms over her chest and looking up with a raised eyebrow. 

"What exactly _is_ your story?" she asked him curtly. "I mean, why are you here? This isn't exactly the kind of thing someone does for fun." Tyrion's eyes looked at her, and then at the floor. 

"What?" he asked. 

"You heard me," she said. "Just appease me and answer my question." He paused. 

"I…didn't really have a choice," he said finally, after some effort. "It seemed like the only thing left." 

"After what? You lose your parents or something?" She suddenly snapped her fingers as she recalled what little she had been told about him. "Wait!" she said. "I remember now. You're the one with the dead girlfriend, right?" Tyrion winced at the bluntness of the comment. Anger flared, but he managed to let loose only a furrowed brow. 

"Her name was Rachel," he said with great heaviness. "And, yes," he said very slowly, letting each of the individual words take full effect. "My girlfriend was murdered." Lina shifted her weight on to one leg as she looked up. 

"So you joined the military?" she said, only halfway believing. 

"I was recruited," he corrected. "Though I don't know why," he again admitted, looking at the floor and seeming very pained at the recollection of the girl who he still mourned for. 

"Why you were recruited, or why you joined?" 

"Why I joined. I think…" he paused. "I wanted a chance to kill some of the ones that killed Rachel. It's like if someone makes an attack at people that are close to you, then you want to see those people punished. With me, I wanted to make sure that I saw those people given what they deserve first hand." 

"And Kallar was the one who brought you here, huh?" Lina said, closing her eyes. Not really wanting to have to ask Tyrion of his entire history, she let loose a quiet psychic impulse that brushed through his mind and grabbed what info that she needed. Tyrion jumped, somewhat startled by the unique feeling that a psychic reading delivers. 

"Did you just…go through my head?" he said, feeling somewhat violated. 

"It'll speed things along," she said. "If I'm going to learn about you, you know?" 

"And you suddenly have interest?" 

"Why not?" 

"Because from what I've seen of you, it doesn't strike me that you care much about other people." She couldn't help but grin. 

"That's a bunch of crap," she corrected. "I just don't care about _particular_ people." He cocked his head sideways, pausing momentarily. 

"Then why the tough façade?" he shot. She blinked harshly, not answering immediately. Had he struck a nerve? 

"I don't have a tough façade," she said, taken someone aback and shifting her weight to her other leg and putting her hands on her hips. "I just don't like being sent on menial tasks while having gear that I've should be given disappear to the likes of a new recruit. And _that_ is why I want to know. Kallar's a yes-man, and he's not dumb. That means either he wanted you for some reason, or someone else wanted you. Which, in turn, means that there's something unique about you. _That_ is why I have interest. Get it?" 

Tyrion cocked his head backwards, before looking past her for a moment. He grimly nodded. 

"Then let's trade. One for one. Qui pro quo. You tell me about you and I tell you about me. Lord knows, it'll stop that damned silence that seems to have been following us." 

"I thought you didn't believe in God," she said, lifting her chin up. 

"How did you…" he stuttered as she smirked. Frowning, he grimaced. "Now _ that's _something I'm going to have to get used to," he said. "But, my question then becomes, if you can just read my head, then why even bother asking me?" 

"Psychics honor," she answered with a smile. "There are certain depths I certainly don't pry to. There's a certain code of decency to the whole thing, you know?" 

Tyrion shrugged, leaning against the nearest wall. "So you want to trade personal info? I should probably assume that you have something to gain from this." 

"Just a better understanding of my partner," she said with a smirk. "And of course, some insight into why they're giving _you_ that damned Armour." 

"Then that's my first question," Tyrion said. "Why are you so interested in getting it. As advanced as it may be, it's just a piece of metal." 

"The reason is that that's not all I think it is," she said obscurely. "Again, you have to look at the motives of the people involved. M-1 may just seem like a group of battle hungry men who are making money off of a country that can't defend itself properly, but there's a hell of a lot more to them than that. If you've ever spoken to anyone in High Command, then you know that they're more than just soldiers; they're politicians. You can't escape politics, Tyrion. As someone who became victim of said politics, you should know." 

"What do you mean, that I became victim of it." 

"Na ah ah," she said, shaking a finger. "It's your turn now." She pointed to him. "You answer a question of mine, now." Tyrion shrugged and nodded. Lina lifted her the finger she had pointed at him to her chin, formulating her question. "Okay, lets talk about you joining M-1. Why'd you really do it?" 

"I already told you," he responded curtly. 

"No," she corrected. "You said you 'guess' that's why. What I want to get an idea is what really went through your head." 

"I…" he paused and blinked in almost a sudden wave of surprise. "You know what, Lina?" he asked. "I'm not sure anymore. I knew what I was doing when I spoke with Kallar and told him that I'd go with him. The more it seems like it, though, I think that Kallar himself was right with what he said. He told me he was giving me a 'how' to deal with my problem. More than anything else though, I think he was giving me the answer to what I viewed as the problem at hand. 

"And it's not like I really had anything to run from, you know? In hindsight, everything I had was pretty damned good. It was just…Rachel was _that_ crucial to my life that I think I wanted to run from the inevitability that I would be without her. Have you ever had an experience where a lot of moments in time flashed before your eyes at once? I think that's what I felt, and I saw life without Rachel…and I—" he paused. In the back of his throat he choked a little, stuttering a bit. A single tear ran down his face beside his nose. 

"And I ran," he finally said. "I wanted to run." He wiped his face. Lina looked up at him with the first sign of sympathy that she had shown since they had met, but it was a peculiar kind of sympathy. It was almost a confused form of sympathy, like she didn't know how to respond to the grieving before her. Her only response was silence. 

Tyrion sniffed a little, before snapping out of it. "It's your turn," he said, then. "I want to know why _you're_ running." 

"Who says I am?" she said. Tyrion raised his eyebrows. 

"But aren't we all?" he asked. "I mean, aren't we all running from something?" 

"What if I'm running _to_ something?" 

"No," he said. "It's never like that. Humans don't work like that. Even if we _are_ running towards something, it's to get away from something else. It's the simple matter of survival." He looked at her with a piercing stare. "So why are you here? Why are _you_ running?" Lina looked up at him, shuffling her left foot against the floor. She paused, trying to think of how to word what she would say. 

The air around them momentarily buckled in an awkward moment of silence. Temporarily, the sound in the pipes above them grew louder, almost searching to alleviate that silence. Footsteps could again be heard in the distance as a low rumbling, growing for a moment and then dying away again. When the pipes reduced their sound again, and silence returned, Lina spoke. 

"Do you know what it's like to be easily differentiated from everyone around you?" she finally asked. "To be markedly different to the point where you want to hide from your own persona? _That's_ what I'm running from. I'm running from being so unique that people mistreat you because of it." 

"Are you talking about the psychic thing?" Tyrion asked. Lina snapped from serious to joking. 

"Ya think?" she said, mockingly slapping her own head. "Duh." 

"Do you think you're the only one who's different?" he then said, countering. "Like you're the only one who's ever had that problem?" 

"I suppose a lot of people deal with it, simply not to the same extent that I did," she said, becoming serious again. "People tend to be afraid of what they don't understand," she admitted. "When I could beat up the bigger _guys_ that would pick on me and tease me, simply by using my mind, people got scared. That scared feeling sometimes manifests itself in hatred." She looked to the floor. "_That's_ what I'm running from." She began to walk again, leading Tyrion towards his room. 

"So why here?" he asked, beginning to walk alongside her. "Why to some place like this?" 

"Because they're like a family," she responded. "They value my abilities more than they fear them. Here, it doesn't make me a freak; it makes me a powerful warrior. Here, those who go into battle with you are your family. They are your brothers and sisters that would die for you, more so than any real family I've known. It's like the family I never had. I know that may seem kinda sick and twisted to someone else but—" 

"No," he said, his eyes darting to the ground as they continued to walk. "It doesn't seem that twisted at all." He paused for a second. "Actually, I've never really had much of a family, myself, either. The only thing I've known as a home is the Nisai Ryu. I had sort of lived there with them for most of my life, mostly because that's all I've known. I stuck around there for a while until they found me a place where I could go live and go to school. I was 14 when I moved in with the only people I could really call my 'parents,' but they were more or less caretakers, rather than real parents. I went to school, but always spent as much time as I could at the Monastery. That was my 'real' family." 

"I don't know much about the Nisai Ryu," she admitted. "But how young were you when you were orphaned?" 

"I don't know, really," he said, laughing. "I never knew my biological parents. In fact, as terribly peculiar as this sounds, they just sort of found me outside of the Monastery one day." He laughed again, this time slightly harder. "I believe I was two or three when I 'showed up' there. They didn't know how I ended up on their doorstep though…" he paused. "Maybe all I'm running from is my own lack of a past?" he asked with a shrug. 

"But it's my turn again," he continued. "And I want to know what you said when you referred to me being a victim of politics." 

Lina laughed briefly, flashing a grin that almost was becoming her trademark towards him. 

"This is your room," she said, halting her walk and hitting the button next to the black door in front of them, causing the door to slide open, revealing the room it guarded. "We can continue this chat at a later time." 

"Hey!" he said. "That's not fair!" Lina began walking away, turning back to him momentarily. 

"I have other things to do," she said with a wink. "I believe I'll see you later tonight. Don't get into trouble while I'm gone." She waved passively before turning around and walking away. Tyrion, too tired to argue, did not even go after her. 

"Bureaucracy…?" he asked himself aloud with hands on his hips. "…Part of the politics that I'm a victim of? Is she giving me a hint?" 

Lina had pretty much confused him indefinitely now. It was not only in what little she was revealing of his situation, though, but also of what she was revealing about herself. His first impulse about her had been one of frustration and annoyance at her arrogance and, well, for lack of a better word, bitchiness. Then, in an instant, when it seemed she might get something that she needed from him, she became sweet and innocent. In taking him to his room, she became nasty again, and then sympathetic, then philosophical. He knew judging people too quickly could be a mistake, but now this girl had already contradicted her own personality three times over. The question remained for him, how would she treat him? He could live with the sweet and innocent, as that never hurt anyone. If she was as powerful as Kallar said, though, Lina wasn't a girl that he wanted as an enemy. That was the last thing he needed. He felt, though, that there was little he could do to control it at the moment. He shrugged and walked into his room. 

It was of decent size for one person, a little larger than a single person dorm room in any of the schools he had visited. Against the left wall was a bed made of stainless steel, all of the sheets folded and piled on the bare mattress for him to make up on his own. Along the back wall was a small desk, also made of stainless steel, with a black lamp on it. The chair for the desk was made of black plastic. The walls were the same color as those of the halls outside, a dull bluish-green. He noticed that there was no window, and that apparently the ventilation duck on the left wall above the bed would have to suffice. Along the right side was a standard issue dresser for what little clothes he had brought. Inside, there was a rail for clothes on a hanger, as well as shelves for whatever else he had. 

Sitting on the desk was a small black book. Upon further inspection, he saw that it was labeled as the Griever Bible, the holy text of the omnipresent religion. Apparently M-1 encouraged their soldiers to be holy men. 

Apathetically, he drew his bag off of his shoulder and threw it into the corner of the room, where it hit something with a thud and a sound was produced that made him jump out of his skin. 

"Ow!" the sound squeaked in the voice of a human. There was nothing there, as far as he could see, so it seemed as if the wall was deciding to complain about being hit with the bag he had thrown. Tyrion raised his fists out of instinct, but really didn't know what to do. 

"That hurt," the voice said again. Tyrion was sure he was going insane. The wall in front of him was complaining about being hurt. 

"…Who's there?" he asked to apparently no one. 

"It's me, Tyrion," the voice said in a harsh whisper. "Keep your voice down!" Tyrion took a moment to register it, but he recognized the voice, and when he recognized the voice, he didn't know whether to be happy, or sad, or to just simply hit the floor. 

"Tristan?" he asked in a whisper. 

"Yeah," he said. "I'm hiding. I can't uncloak myself. Listen to me. Pick up that book on the desk and sit on the bed. Pretend to read it but don't look in my direction as you talk. The cameras in these rooms only pick up video. They don't record audio." 

"Cameras?!" he asked in surprise. "We're being watched?!" 

"Just do it," Tristan's voice said. "I'll try to explain." 

"Why are you hiding?" he asked again. "What the hell is the deal?" 

"Just listen to me!" he said, this time more harshly, some magical energy even kicking up in the room due to his frustration. Tyrion, slightly nerved, did as he was told as he picked up the Griever's Bible and sat on his bed, opening the book and gazing at it. 

"What do you want?" he said, looking stoically at the book. 

"It's not so much what I want, but what you need." Tyrion took in the cryptic statement for a moment. 

"I'm getting awfully tired of all of this mystical crap," he said, finally. "I wish that someone would just tell me what they want so I can get down to deciding whether they're on my side or not." 

"Look at it this way, then" Tristan said. "Think of me as your Guardian Angel." 

"Guardian Angel?" Tyrion asked. "Some Guardian," he mocked. "You can't even show yourself because they're after you right now, aren't they? Those men running through the halls were looking for you, weren't they?" 

"Regardless," Tristan said changing the subject before his ego could become more bruised, "you may be in danger," he said. "And if it comes to that, I'm here to help you out." 

"I'm a big boy, Tristan," Tyrion said, trying to keep his emotions under control. "I can handle myself." 

"That's twice you've told me that," Tristan said. 

"And now looks who's the one who's hiding," Tyrion shot back. Tristan, though Tyrion couldn't see him (and this was good for Tristan) nodded apathetically, knowing that his new subject was right. He was the one hiding, which was not a good thing to do for a man whose ego was as large as his. 

"Listen," Tristan said. "Do you remember when I told you I needed to figure out who was after you? You know? Who were the bad guys?" 

"These people are my allies now," Tyrion said. "I'll get to strike back for Rachel if I stay with them." 

"No one is your ally, Tyrion," Tristan said. "Even your best friends are sometimes either out to get you, or just plain using you." 

"Then how do I know who to trust?" 

"You trust me," Tristan said, immediately realizing how terribly unbelievable that sounded. 

"How do I know you're my ally?" Tyrion shot back. 

"Because why else would I be risking my neck to come here to protect you?" 

"I told you already, I don't need anyone protecting me." 

"And I told _you_ already, that you always need someone watching your back." 

There was a long silence as the two stared at each other, Tyrion really not seeing anything, but at least knowing that Tristan could see him stare him down. 

"Look…" Tristan finally said. "You look hungry." Tyrion shrugged. 

"What's that got to do with anything?" 

"You can't be on guard if you're hungry," Tristan said, reaching into his pocket and procuring something, though Tyrion was not able to see what it was yet. 

"Eat this," Tristan said, tossing him what he had taken out of his pocket. As the item passed out of his image shielding field, its form became clear as that of a packaged bar of food. Tyrion caught it absently and examined it. The language that the package was marked in was unfamiliar, but it looked like any standard form of energy bar that he might buy in a convenience store. Realizing that he certainly _was_ hungry, he tore it open and took a bite. It tasted like chocolate. 

"What is this?" he asked. 

"Just some brain food," Tristan said. Munching away at his food, and taking the gesture of good will, Tyrion was somewhat quelled of his anger. 

"So do you have any idea exactly where we are?" he asked Tristan. 

"Not really," Tristan admitted. "The plane that I hijacked passed through an image shielding device, and then when we went under auto pilot, the windows to the cockpit were closed. As a result, I don't really know where this base is. I do, however, have a pretty good idea of its structural layout, based on the plans that I stole from their computer systems." 

"So you'll be out and about?" he asked. 

"Yes, while I try to figure out what it really is with these M-1 guys and why they are after you." Tyrion paused. "You just have to trust me when I tell you that I'm working on it. I mean, these people might, in actuality, be your allies, but we have to be cynical if you want to survive. We have to operate under the assumption that they want something out of you. If it simply is the gift of your distinguished services, then everything should be okay. If it's anything more than that, we need to find out quickly." 

"Why are you helping me?" he asked, repeating a question he had asked earlier. 

"Because, like I said before, my department needs to figure out who the bad guys are, so we can figure out who the good guys are. Get it?" 

"I guess," Tyrion muttered. 

"I'll make sure I keep you posted on any new M-1 information," Tristan said. Though Tyrion couldn't see him, he moved towards the door. 

"I have to go now," he said. "I'll be watching. Don't let yourself get pulled in too deep, okay?" Before waiting for an answer, he opened the door via the panel and exited the room, wondering where he would go to hide, next. He knew he couldn't evade the people here forever. There were only so many places where he could go before he started to leave unwanted evidence of his presence. That would be his downfall. As long as he was careful, though, he would survive for a little longer. 

Tyrion, on the other hand, sat with a bewildered look on his face as he slowly ate the energy bar that Tristan had given him. He gazed blankly into space as he tried to figure out just what the hell was going on, and why on Celes he had been chosen to be a part of it. Looking down to his lap, the Griever's Bible still lay, opened to a seemingly random page. Looking down and glancing at it, the book read: 

"_And there will come a Great Destroyer who will purge the world for the return of Adrekel. The coming of Adrekel will be foretold by the Avatars and they will make themselves known with fire from the sky, and death dealt as swiftly as the wind. Upon the Wings of Angels they will fly and prepare the world for the coming of the Destroyer, and he will in turn purge the unworthy in the name of Adrekel. Then, and only then, will the Final Judgment begin." _

Closing the book, he threw it to the opposite corner of the room, finished his snack and then lay down on the bed, closing his eyes in the purest hope that sleep would come. 

. 

_"Tyrion helped a great deal, both knowingly and unknowingly. I'm quite surprised that he took it so lightly when everything was eventually revealed to him. He didn't even know what a Lavoid was at the time. He sure as hell would find out soon, though." _–Jack McKlane 


	12. Double Crosses and Double Takes

**Chapter 11**

**Double Crosses and Double Takes**

In the M-1 Compound 

As Tyrion slept, he could almost feel his consciousness slipping away from the real world and entering into itself, like folds on folds of awareness, passing into a state of dreams. It was in this state of dreams that he found himself temporarily transported to a strange new world.  
  


Normally, Tyrion didn't dream at all. That is, he did dream, but never actually remembered any of them. All humans dream, someone had once told him. In actuality, it's somewhere around four or five times per night, yet our recollection of these dreams can sometimes be limited to our own capacity for memory. This dream, however, Tyrion would remember. 

He was floating above a great city that seemed to be lit on fire. He could see the air move with the flames, like one sees when staring across blacktop and watching the air rise with the weight of the thermal rising off of it. Such was the movement of the air around this city, to the point where it was blurred unless he looked away from the white-red flame or shielded his eyes from the intense warmth. 

Within the city, buildings of marvel could be beheld. Crystal towers stretching over 100 stories in height, elaborate domes and intricate trusses that supported these mammoth skyscrapers, and a style of architecture that was surely unknown to the world outside of his head. The buildings seemed to shimmer, not just in the light of the flames, but in their own light as well as a calming, soothing glow that emanated from the structures like the inside of a gemmed cavern. 

But certain things remained like that of a dream. It was if he was reading something which he knew, and that the parts that he remembered all showed up clearly, but as the images delved into an area that he was unfamiliar with, it started to show up only as gibberish, the images fading in and out where he remembered what was there. Towards the end, the images seemed curtailed earlier than they should be, like someone had cut out the last few pages of the story. Such was what the buckling image of the city was like. 

More peculiar yet, he realized that not only was he floating over the city, the city itself was floating above the ground. In fact, it was so high as that it hung above the clouds like some magical deity. Ironically, though, it was the clouds which the city floated over that prevented him from seeing the ground. They were thick and gray, and occasional lashes of light streaked through them, periodically busting out and upward, tearing through the city itself. Whatever the flashes of light were was apparently what was causing the city to be aflame. 

These streaks sometimes continued upward through the city itself, bursting skyward with a trail of architectural and biological destruction in their wake. Bodies flew up, being caught in the power of the beam, and he could see now that bodies also were falling out of the building, jumping of their own power in fear of dying what might be a more tragic death. He could hear now the screams of the people that were down in the city and in the buildings. For a moment, everything else in his capacity for hearing was silenced, so that the only thing which was available for his auditory nerves to pick up was the screams of terror. He cringed and covered his ears, in hopes of making the terrible, fearful scream go away, but the shrilling persisted. It slowly began to grow louder and louder until…it started to fade away. 

The screams started to die away and his ability to hear other terrors of the scene before him returned. He could see the rubble still falling off of some of the taller buildings. Almost as he saw this, one mammoth structure, easily over 110 stories, began to crumble from its middle. Dust poured down the side of the building and debris began to fill the air once again. Again, the images of people hurling themselves out of the building became momentarily clear before it faded back into a blur. The building started to come down in almost a slow motion, and the people on the streets looked up in mixed terror and awe at the horrible, dreadful power that was being displayed and enacted on the helpless people of the city. 

This building, like others in the city, was unable to support its own weight after so many of its support structures had been melted by the flames. Tyrion watched the colossus of architecture fall for a moment, before it seemed that reality sped back into real time and the building no longer fell in slow motion. Like someone had snapped a video into fast forward, the building came down, littering death onto the streets below. The smokes from the building would continue to rise for long after the point when he would wake up. 

So many other buildings followed until it eventually seemed like not just the buildings were falling, but the city itself began to fall. Over on the western edge, just beyond where his sight began to fail, Tyrion could see the outer limits of the great city begin to sink beneath the clouds. The floating monstrosity began to tilt, and the added weight at the angle proved to great for some of the few buildings that hadn't crumbled. They snapped like twigs, and fell like stones. 

Whatever energies had suspended this city in air were beginning to fail as the city as a whole slowly began to sink. Whatever was left of these energies prevented the sinking from being fast at the moment, but it was just slow enough so that those who hadn't already been killed were stuck with the impending feeling of doom that Tyrion now felt in the city. He couldn't hear their screams anymore; the sounds of the crashing buildings had long since drowned that out. But, he could _feel_ their screams. He could feel the Life Essences of thousands of people returning to the planet, their very existences being snuffed out. He could feel the planet moan. 

The skies were getting darker now, the horizon dimming to a putrid black. The smoke and dust that was being catapulted into the air from the destroyed buildings was clouding Tyrion's vision. He could no longer see the images of the people falling out of the buildings, or launching themselves off the edge of the city and into the dark depths below. As the debris in the air thickened, he had a hard time making out the buildings themselves, and was soon unable to see much of the destruction that was going on before him. The entire city faded away- both into the smoke in front of it, and into the clouds below it. 

The destruction was almost complete, and the only thing that could save Tyrion from it was his own scream, sending him out of the inner folds of his mind and back into reality. 

. 

Tyrion awoke later, unsure of how much time had passed, to a series of beeps that were ringing through the compound, and as a result, through his head. It didn't sound like there was a problem, per-say, just that someone was trying to let anyone who could hear the annoying buzzing know that something was happening. 

The beeps rang in three-tone sequences, in a 1-4-5 interval, spaced apart from the next three-tone sequence by about five seconds. After repeating this pattern four times, they stopped. Shortly after, his door slid open with a hiss and Lina's form became apparent in the frame of the entryway. 

"Come on," she said abruptly. "Let's go." 

"Go where?" he asked, slightly dazed and not completely awake yet. 

"The briefing room," she responded, waving her hand to make him follow her. 

"What for?" 

"Well, I'd say you've got yourself your first mission," Lina said. "Now, I'm not going to come in there and drag you out, so let's go." 

"Mission?" he asked, climbing off of the bed and following her, not even making sure that the door closed behind him as he exited. "They expect me to be trained for military action already." 

"You were in the Nisai Ryu," Lina said as they walked down the hall. "They said that you had training enough in the Art of War. Everything else basically comes down to listening to what you're told." 

"How can that possibly be it?" he stammered. "I don't even know how to use a gun." 

"Then you probably won't be using one," she said. 

"What?!" 

"Think, Tyrion. Each Armour has a specific task, coordinated with the skills and abilities of the user. Cyoren has already been equipped with melee weapons. You'll get along just fine." 

"Isn't this kind of sudden, though? I mean, I just arrived here." 

"Don't worry. We'll probably have about 24 hours or so before the actual mission. This is just the briefing. Relax, buddy. You'll at least have _one_ more day to live." 

"Why am I not thinking this is good?" Tyrion asked himself out loud. 

"You're the one who wanted to join the army," she said. "Don't look at me." 

"Well, I kinda assumed they would teach me what to do," he said. "It's not like I've been formally instructed in M-1 protocol." Lina stopped walking and turned around to face him. 

"Listen," she said. "Just trust me and you'll be fine. This isn't going to be anything difficult. If I were them, I'd just be sending you on this in order to get some combat data on you and to see how you interface with Cyoren." 

"How would you know that?" 

"I told you, Tyrion. These guys aren't just soldiers. They're politicians. Obviously, there's something up with Cyoren, and there's obviously something up with you. Just put two and two together. I would think they just want to see how you two function together." 

"That's some pretty deep thinking." 

"I've been doing this for awhile," she said. "Trying to figure out what makes these guys tick, and all." 

"So how far have you come?" he asked. She spun around and started walking again. 

"If I still needed to ask you about why they _might_ want you, then I haven't come all that far. I'm just guessing that they want to test their new toys: both Cyoren _and _you." 

They walked through the halls which seemed all the same to Tyrion. Only when the walls changed from their previous color of blue-green to that of stainless steel could he infer that they had left the dormitory area of the compound. The only person he was really left to trust was Lina, again, and the fact surprised him that maybe he was beginning to get used to it. He wasn't really sure why he was suddenly being given an assignment, though Lina's argument did seem to fit. He wasn't sure he liked the idea of being referred to as a toy, though, and even less appreciated being likened to a piece of metal. 

He thought back to what Tristan had said about trying to find out what these people wanted with him, and it seemed that Lina was trying to do the same thing. The funny part was, though, that he really didn't know (or believe) either of them as far as explanations to why they were interested in him. For some reason, he felt like he could trust both of them. He had never been proficient enough in the use of Lifestream to actually be able to perform a full read of a person, but for the most part, he could tell when someone was lying. He could also sense, to a certain degree, the emotional emanations of a person. For example, he could tell that Tristan had been somewhat embarrassed when Tyrion had told him that 'all he was capable of doing was hiding.' Granted, Tristan himself was very good at hiding his Life Force Emanations (termed by the Nisai Ryu as LFE, for short), a shielding factor that he had noticed from the first time he had met him, but he could tell that some of the emotions still got through (especially when he was feeling something as powerful as a damaged ego). 

Protecting ones LFE was known as a Nisai Ryu trick, and Tyrion had already seen that Tristan was proficient in using his Nisai Ryu abilities. Therefore, Tyrion was pretty clueless as to anything about him, aside, of course, from the fact Tristan was a master of Nisai Ryu (or so Tyrion still thought). The only thing that he was able to sense was that Tristan had a hidden agenda, and that was a sense that he picked up using human intuition rather than fancy Lifestream tricks. 

As far Lina went, she was much less quiet about hiding her emotions. He didn't even need to reach out to sense what she was feeling; she made it all quite apparent herself. The question was, if she was his ally, which she seemed to be at the moment, then what was her take on things, and why, if Tristan really was correct about everyone using everyone else, did she need him? 

It was other things about Lina that came through in this projection of Life Force as a result of her lack of hiding it. Everything that Tyrion had heard about her was true. She really was short tempered, and truly was pissed about having a partner. Also, for some reason, the fact that he had blue hair bothered her, though she hadn't mentioned it outwardly to him, yet. 

He continued to follow Lina down the length of the corridor, their passage being relatively straight, and passing through the large Armour hanger that he had originally met her in. When they passed out of the other side of the hanger, the colors of the walls were no longer either blue-green or steel, but a dim red, colored by the red lights which covered the ceiling space. He couldn't tell what color the walls might actually have been, but he assumed that it was probably something light enough so that the red would show. 

The briefing room, as she had described where they were going, was found on the right side of the hall after going through a long, curvy corridor. Lina extended her hand to the side of it and entered a code into a small number pad, causing the door to hiss open and the room to unveil itself. Inside, the main feature of the room was prevalent wooden table which formed an almost completed circle and possessed legs which almost looked organic. The surface table itself was a dark, glazed wood with a black boarder, the same color as the black, again organic, looking chairs that surrounded the table. 

The walls were pitch black (the deep red hue that filled the room not helping to lighten them) but it was clear that they were video screens of some sort. The only other being in the room was a man in a black uniform and a black beret. As Lina walked into the room, she stood tall and saluted the figure, who saluted back. When Tyrion didn't do anything, she elbowed him in the gut. 

"Superior officer present," she hissed through the side of her mouth. 

"It's okay," the man said in a husky, deep voice. "You can stand down." Lina did as told. "And don't worry about her, Tyrion," he said. "You'll get used to her." 

"I don't appreciate the insinuations," Lina said. 

"Well, remember, Esrevni, there's a 'superior officer present.'" He chuckled. Lina didn't seem so amused. 

"Please," he continued. "Have a seat, Agents." Tyrion and Lina did as instructed, taking a seat on the inner side of the circular table. "My name is Colonel Kay. I'm told that you're the new kid from the Nisai Ryu," he said to Tyrion. 

"I'm Tyrion Mandrake," he said. "And yes. I'm the new kid. I'm sorry if I don't know your protocol yet." 

"You'll learn in time, Tyrion," Kay said. "We'll allow you a few days leeway to get the hang of it." 

"I brought him here because I was told to," Lina said, cutting in. 

"And you need to be here too, Lina," Kay said. "Remember, he's your partner." Lina grumbled something under her breath, but Kay paid it little attention. 

"Then might _I_ ask what we're here for?" Tyrion said. 

"Of course," Kay answered. "You're here because you're receiving your first assignment. Now, when we've told you that Lina is your partner, that might be misleading. You are partners, but you now serve in a Special Operations unit termed the Grey Knights." 

"So…there are more like her?" Tyrion asked, somewhat scared by the prospect. 

"No, not like her," Kay said. "Hell, there's no one on this planet like _her_," he said. Lina smirked in a ray of self-gratification. Kay went on. "If there was more of _her_, there might not even _be_ a planet left." 

"Now just a God damned minute!" Lina said, getting out of her seat. Kay laughed, this time slightly harder than before. 

"I'm only joking," he said, waving her back into her seat. "You should work on acquiring a sense of humor to go with your sense of destruction." She frowned and crossed her arms, reluctantly sitting down. 

"Regardless," Tyrion said. "While Lina says that it's not a big deal that I've never been in the military before, I'm getting a feeling that it might be." 

"Nonsense," Kay said. "It may not make much sense to you now, but you'll understand after a bit. The main reason, if you must know, is because we functionally operate in smaller groups. All you have to be able to do is do as you are told and act with what combat knowledge that you, as someone who is so well trained in the arts of the Nisai Ryu, already have." 

"So basically I just do as I'm told and I don't die?" 

"That's the gist of it," he said. He spun in his chair to face the far wall and extended his hand, which held in it some sort of control device. "As far as your actual mission goes, this is a relatively simple assignment, set away from the front. It will involve you two, as well as one other units of Grey Knights, a unit being the name for two partners, with fully integrated Armour usage." 

"You want us to blow something up, I'm guessing," Lina said. 

"Of course," Kay answered. "But it's a cross of a recon and tactical removal mission." 

"So you want us to check something out first, _then_ blow it up?" Lina asked. 

"Lina, you're hopeless," Kay said in a deep exhale. Continuing what he started to do a few seconds ago, he hit a switch on his hand controller and the wall in front of them lit up in an image of a large facility with a radio dish on top. Towards the rear of the building, there was a set of antennas that reached towards the sky, climbing up past the height of the dish. 

"You want us to knock out a communications facility?" Lina asked, getting excited. 

"Sit down, Lieutenant," Kay said, getting slightly aggravated now. "Think about it. If we just wanted to blow it up, we could simply bombard them from the air." 

"Then it's an air defense projection facility," Tyrion said abruptly, surprising both of them. 

"What?" Lina asked. 

"Actually…" Kay started to say. 

"That's why we can't attack it from the air," Tyrion continued. "That's the device that's stopping it. Wouldn't that make sense?" Tyrion asked. Kay stared at him with a mix of amazement and surprise. He didn't respond for a second. 

"How did you know that?" Kay asked. Tyrion shrugged. 

"I guess it made sense," he said. "And I…I'm not sure how I knew that. Maybe a lucky guess?" Kay stared at him for a moment. 

_ Wow, he's as good as Command said he would be_, Kay thought to himself. _ Certainly, it makes sense to knock out Denegrad's new defense web. Ever since it came online, it's been causing us problems with making air strikes past the Front, but how on Celes would he know that was what the facilities looked like if he wasn't a damn military genius._

Little did he realize that Lina had heard every word. 

"So give us the background on this thing, already," Lina said. Kay didn't speak for a moment. 

"As you may or may not have known," he continued at length, "Denegrad has recently established somewhat of a defense web over their area behind the Front. While this has not been hurting the war effort directly, it removes our ability to bomb important infrastructure behind the web. The system works by combining long-range scanners with anti-missile deployment systems which they have situated in various locations, one of which actually being in orbit over the planet. It functions on the basis of two thing: that it can detect projectiles fired from locations where they know we have bases, and that it can react fast enough to projectiles fired from locations where they do not know of any bases. 

"Up until this point, it has actually proven quite effective, considering the lack of resources, both technological and intellectual, that Denegrad has access to. In fact, it has all but negated our potential for military air strikes. However, after a great deal of recon, we have identified the facility you see before you as the one which acts as the 'hub' of information to the other facilities. It is also the only one through which communications to the other facilities can be sent. Due to its importance, it is located at an extremely inland location, making it hard to get at." 

"So basically, we upload a computer virus into this facility and transmit it to the others, possibly even giving us the potential to short-circuit the orbital based anti-missile platform, and then destroy the building," Tyrion blurted out, with a look of surprise on his face like he couldn't even believe what he was saying. Kay looked at Lina in disbelief. 

"The boy's a fucking genius," Kay said, flabbergasted. 

"I taught him everything he knows," Lina said jokingly, leaning back in her chair and putting her arms behind her head. 

"I'm right?" Tyrion asked. 

"Pretty much to the detail," Kay said, still in shock. "Our plan was for your group of operatives to infiltrate the compound, upload a specially created system virus into their computers, send it to the other facilities, then destroy the compound, but…again, how could you have known that?" Tyrion started rubbing his temples with a look of pain. 

"I have no idea," he said honestly. 

_ Well maybe we should figure it out_, Lina said to him in his head. _ Because maybe that's just why in the hell you're so important to these people._ Tyrion looked at her and shrugged. 

"I really have no idea," he said again. "But I must say…it's like it wasn't in there a second ago. Strange, huh?" 

"Like nothing I've ever seen," Kay said. "But…" he reached under the table and produced two folders. "This is the mission file. It has all the required information." He handed each of them a folder. "You have 24 hours to prepare and gather whatever you need. Meet in Mission Prep at 1600." He stood up. "That's all." 

Lina and Tyrion both rose. Tyrion following Lina's lead and motions, they both saluted and turned and exited. As the door hissed open in front of them and close behind them, Kay was left in the Briefing room on his own, still muttering to himself. 

"What in the name of hell _is_ this kid…" he mumbled out loud. "And what devil did we have to make a deal with to get a hold of him…" 

. 

Elsewhere in the Compound… 

"Ahh, that devil would be none other than Tristan Tenser," Tristan said with a laugh that would have compromised his position if he wasn't hidden away so well. It had only taken him a few hours to find, but after careful analysis of the electrical systems running through the facility, he did manage to find the one section of the compound that was not monitored by cameras. Granted, it must have been dignified so insignificant that either it didn't matter, or that it was too hard to get to be worth hiding in. He had tried the woman's locker rooms in hopes that possibly M-1 had some decency, but was both saddened (and slightly disturbed) to find that even the showers were monitored. The garbage depository, his unfortunate current location, turned out to be the only thing that M-1 felt they didn't need to watch. 

Now, the wonders of LEA technology did enable him to float above the mounds of trash that filled the room, along with the very appreciated shield that blocked not only people from seeing him, but him from smelling his surroundings. True, he didn't need the image shield anymore, but the protection from the smell was, however, something which was required. 

Finally able to stay in a location for an extended period of time without worry of being capture, Tristan had made contact with the Weatherlight— a contact that required high amounts of magical energy to keep in tact due to the high level of disturbance in the station itself. It was the first time in hours that he had been able to report to Jack, though he had been quite entertained in the mean time. 

"You're a terrible person, Tristan," Jack's voice said over the communications unit. "Putting a micro neuro-transmitters into a candy bar and actually sending him information through them?" 

"It was a good idea," he said. "Now M-1 thinks the kid can read minds or is just simply a genius. It's gonna confuse the hell out of them," he said, again laughing. 

"I thought the purpose was to listen to what he was saying and listen to what he was being told," Jack said. 

"It was," Tristan admitted. "But I tweaked the program in the transmitters because I thought this would be more amusing." 

"Have I told you yet today that you're a sick person?" Jack said. 

"Nope." 

"Well, you're a sick person, then," Jack said. 

"Thank you," he said sarcastically. "But look at it this way, I did manage to intercept their plans for attack. What do you want me to do with them?" 

"In addition to sending them up to me?" Jack asked. 

"Of course." 

"Nothing at the moment. Continue monitoring the situation as you are." 

"And then what?" 

"And then you wait until I come up with something for you to do." 

"You know I'm worth more than this, don't you?" 

"Of course," Jack said. "But even _you_ need to be relegated to odd jobs if it's for the good of the organization. And just think, if we do secure Tyrion, then you'll be the main one responsible. Don't even _try_ to tell me you haven't thought of that, yet." 

"No," Tristan admitted. "I have. I've thought about it. However, running around, getting away from all these bad guys and being unable to fight back because we need to see how things play out is _not_ my idea of fun." 

"Just wait," Jack said. "You'll have plenty of time for fun within the next few days. I want to you watch over him when he goes into combat." 

"How do you suggest I do that." 

"Oh, you'll figure something out," Jack said. "You are, after all, the devil that is Tristan Tenser." Jack laughed. 

"Naturally," Tristan agreed. 

"Anything else to report?" Jack asked. 

"No, sir," Tristan said. "Everything else is clear. I'm going to spend a few more minutes getting hold of some information, then I'm going to try to block off the video recorders in one of the dorm rooms. I'd much rather have a bed to sleep in tonight." 

"It's your call," Jack said. "I'll wait until your next contact, but try to make it within 24 hours." 

"I'm sending M-1's plans to you now," Tristan said, hitting a button on his hand-held. "And I'll speak to you again as soon as anything new develops." 

"Right," Jack said. 

"Over and out," Tristan said, shutting off communication. The magic stream that he used to conduct the transmission disappeared, the ethereal energies dissipating under the _assumption_ that no one had actually seen them. 

On the other end of the communication, Jack shut off his own speaker. He lifted himself out of the plush leather chair that sat in front of the mahogany wood desk in his quarters. Brushing off his pants and straightening out his uniform, he looked over to large porthole that gazed down on the planet of Celes. On the small bench that sat in front of the window, Sarah stared out at the planet, her eyes closed as she continued to attempt reading though the complex ethereal veil that seemed to block it. 

"You're acting without the advice of a prophet," she remarked to him, opening her eyes for the first time in nearly an hour. 

"I'm acting on intuition and the fact that I know Tristan pretty well." 

"You'll go ahead and send them the information anyway?" 

"Of course." 

"Explain your logic again," she asked. Jack grinned and walked over to the bench by the porthole and sat down next to her. 

"It's like this," he began to explain. "M-1 knows he's there. We know that. He knows that. What he doesn't know is that they have probably already assumed that he is a spy that has successfully infiltrated their compound. We also know, according to what Tristan told me, is that he had relatively little trouble getting access to the files regarding this skirmish that they're sending Tyrion on. Tristan, of course, considers this as a result of his own ability and his opponent's lack of proper technological defenses." 

"You think they gave it to him?" Sarah asked. 

"Not only do I think they gave it to him, but I think they wanted him to have it." 

"Because you think that _they_ think that he's a spy from Denegrad…" Sarah completed his sentence. 

"Exactly." 

"And when he sends this information to his supposed superiors, as they assume he will, the facility will be more readily defended. They hope this will lead to a more effective showing of battle data to collect from Tyrion." 

"Of course." 

"But what I don't get is why you want that? Why would you send the information to the En'Kai anyway?" 

"Because _I _ want a more effective showing of battle data, too, Sarah. With Tristan watching over him, I can pretty much guarantee his safety because Tristan can pretty much annihilate anything they throw at him, with the exception of the Lavoid itself. On top of all this, M-1 isn't even going to get the battle data. I'm going to scramble their communication links so that the data isn't transmitted, and I'm going to have Tristan retrieve a hard copy from the Armour itself. End result: LEA, one. M-1, zero." 

"Do you see the inherent problem with this plan?" she asked. 

"No." 

"You're setting the life of our first potential Planeswalker in the hands of Tristan Tenser," she said with a smile, nudging him playfully. "If you don't see that as a problem, then maybe there's something wrong with you." She tapped his temple with a grin." Jack smiled. 

"Do you remember how we established such a strong base of operations so quickly?" Jack asked. "Those 'two' years ago?" 

"Of course. We basically constructed our fleet in suspended animation. You designed the plans over a year with the help of the unlimited knowledge in the Beginning of Time, then gave the plans to Tristan to build over the course of the _same_ year that you designed them. Then, with Topik's help, we set up our Space Yards outside of the continuum, so we basically had a full fleet in the amount of time lost during temporal conversion." 

"5.3 seconds," Jack said. 

"Yeah. Man, the SSAF Board would have flipped if they had known we'd become such a Super Power so quickly." 

"Well, we're not there yet, Sarah. I have to admit that Ship production has been lacking since then. Some of our ships need refitting and their Chaos Drives need recalibrating, which is, as you know, something that only _I_ can do. It'd be very helpful to have another person with the ability to help me out with that." 

"So you trust Tristan with his life?" 

"I trust Tristan with _both_ of their lives, even though he doesn't even know about Teclis yet." 

"You're quite the gambler, Mr. McKlane," Sarah said. 

"I only bet on the sure thing," Jack said. "And remember, if we fail, we can always just start over." She looked at him with a raised eyebrow and a stare that said _you would never cause a massive disruption in the Space Time Continuum simply to save one life_, but he paid it no notion. Smirking in return, he waved his hand and magically dimmed the lights, leaning in to kiss her just as the only light in the room was that of the swirling blue mass of Celes floating below them. 

. 

_"I've never had anything against Tristan. He's a strong warrior and a generally good guy. The problem is his own ego. When he gets caught up in that, we sometimes worry what the result might be. That Jack knew this and still left everything in Tristan's hands is the only thing that worried me. Well..._almost_ the only thing..." _-Sarah Inverse McKlane 


	13. Behind the Scenes

**Chapter 12**

**Behinds the Scenes**

M-1 Compound 

"You know," Tyrion said. "I'm again not quite sure why I'm putting my life on the line in an active mission before I've had even the slightest bit of training in any of the uses of Armours. 

Tyrion and Lina sat in one of the few cafeterias located in the M-1 Compound. Their table, much like most of the furniture in the compound, was made of stainless steel, and shone of the hard military tradition that had crafted it. Around them, other soldiers bustled about, speaking of their business, but no one sat down with them. Tyrion thought Lina was a deterrent for company, which wasn't always a bad thing. Lina apathetically stared up from the plate full of food in front of her. 

"Do you always moan this much about death?" she asked him. 

"Wouldn't anyone moan as much about dying?" he asked. She shrugged and went back to eating. They had come here not so much that Tyrion had to eat –the energy bar that Tristan had given him had filled him up surprisingly well- but because Lina wanted a 'snack.' Tyrion hadn't expected her definition of a snack to be an all-inclusive meal. Her explanation was that using psychic energy took a lot out of you, though he was still pondering that, as she hadn't used any real display of power yet today, but was still consuming enough to feed a platoon. 

"How do you stay so skinny when you eat that way?" he asked her. She didn't respond, aside from a grunt that might have been conceived to be a response. He rolled his eyes, opening up the folder that had been given to him by Kay. In it was a series of papers, the top one containing a bulleted list of objectives, with the red letters 'Top Secret' displayed in the background. Thumbing through the contents, there were some detailed technological readouts of the shielding devices, as well as photos of the target and a description of the virus they were to upload into the computer systems. 

There also was a list of approved equipment that could be carried on the Armours that they would be taking. His Armour, as expected, was already predetermined to be Cyoren, and the weapons also seemed to be already picked. 

"So…" he started to say. "How will I know how to use one?" 

"One what?" 

"An Armour," he responded. 

"The same way you use your muscles," she answered, still not looking up from her dish. "There's a cranial scan mechanism that reads your intentions and moves the Armour along with the movement that would otherwise simply govern actions in your muscles. Basically, all you have to do is try to walk like you would otherwise do, and the Armour will walk with you." 

"That's it?" he asked. 

"Be lucky you're not from Denegrad," she said. "Their Armours aren't so advanced. Their Armour troops actually have to have a socket grafted into the back of their head at the base of their brain stem that lets them interface with the Armour through an electrical plug in." Tyrion briefly cringed in the thought of what such an implant might feel like. Shaking his head in hopes of forgetting, he flipped through some of the other pages. He pulled out one black and white surveillance photo. 

"This installation looks like it's pretty far inland, like we were told," he said, looking at the large photo, which was a map of the area surrounding the installation. "How exactly are we going to get there?" 

"Airdrop," Lina said again, speaking without swallowing first. "They'll fly us over and we'll skydive in." 

"Ah…" Tyrion said. _Oh good, so at least we'll be having fun before we do this. I've always wanted to go skydiving anyway…_. He continued to pass through the folder, but he felt like he was getting the general gist. Their orders were relatively simple, he thought. Nothing more complicated than any Nisai Ryu training exercise, anyway. As promised, it seemed to be simple infiltration, which he knew how to do, and then following maps that would be displayed on their HUD screens inside their Armours. All the uploading of the computer virus required was that the disk that contained it be inserted into the proper slot; the Armour's onboard computer would aid this, too. Then, they would exit and meet the pickup ship. The other team that they would be working with was responsible for the demolition of the site. How complicated could following directions be? 

Lina continued to eat ravenously. She soon cleared her plate and picked up her glass of water, chugging it down and then slamming the empty glass on the table. 

"Ready?" she asked him, looking refreshed. 

"For what?" 

"We're done here," she said. 

"So what now?" 

"You meet your Armour," Lina said. She grinned, jumped up from the table and trotted off in the opposite direction. Tyrion looked perplexed for a moment before finally rising up and following her, head hung low. He momentarily toyed with his hair before rolling his neck to the side, cracking the bones that had become stiff from lack of movement. He had never before seen someone eat for that long in his entire life. 

. 

Lina didn't take him to the Armour Hanger, because the Armours were no longer there. They had been moved, as she explained, to a place called the Prep Room, or PR as she called it. Armours that had been designated for missions that would soon depart were always taken here so that they could be refitted and their selection of weapons and options be confirmed. Tyrion's Cyoren would already be fitted with weapons that had been chosen for him, based on what knowledge they knew he had of hand-to-hand fighting. 

Tyrion had originally been given the impression that this Prep Room was smaller than the Hanger. While this was true, it was by no means 'small' in his definition of the word. The PR was actually a rather large room about two stories high and looked to be the size of a small warehouse. The upper story, since Armours were only about the size of a man, was filled with robotics technology, the likes of which Tyrion had never seen, all stretching down to do modifications on the Armours. The Armours themselves lined the walls and were seemingly locked into mechanical strapping systems. In addition to the robotics that acted on them from above, men were tending to each one, plugging numbers into computers and running tests. 

He didn't make the important connection that this room was only used for handling Armours that were going out on assignment within the next 24 hours, and that there had to be at least a hundred of the things being tended to. If the groups that took part in missions were so small (his only numbering four people), then the number of missions that M-1 actually sent out in a day was incredible. One might assume that they were not all being sent to the front, and because of that the number of Armours in battle was not actually that high. But, when one takes into consideration that there were other larger bases scattered throughout the world, then the span of M-1's military actions was rather huge. Truth be told, ever single Armour in this room was going to be taking part in a type of mission that was similar to Tyrion's: small scale and highly secretive. 

Granted, Lina couldn't have even known where all the Armours were going to go. The bureaucracy of M-1 was its other incredible factor. She had been right when she had called it as such, because it was conceivable that there was not even one man who knew what every single one of these missions was aimed at. There were committees within committees within sub-commands of high-commands of even more decision making bodies. How the entire organization stayed coherent was a mystery and a miracle, or so Lina had hypothesized for a very long time. 

The only people that might have a clue as to what the entirety of the organization was doing might be the Contract Committee. These were the ones responsible for negotiating the contracted jobs with M-1, but there were certain firewalls put up even here to prevent any one person from knowing about all of the contracts out at a given time. There was, assumable, some purpose to having all these precautions. It more than likely had to do with client-confidentiality, but there wasn't really anyone in the organization that didn't know that M-1 was working for Lyons. In truth, there must have been some other purpose. 

Lina led Tyrion across the floor and down the far left isle, pointing to various machines, naming them and what they were capable of. She pointed out her favorites, her least favorites, her little pet peeves with Armours, and, more than anything else, which were her weapons of choice. She led him down the isle, moving towards a port that was filled with the blue-black Armour that Tyrion had seen before in the hanger when he first entered the building with Kallar. 

"And here's Cyoren," Lina said, walking Tyrion slowly over to the blue-black Armour on the left wall. It appeared to be ready for combat, as no technicians were working on it. He finally got a good look at the thing. It was about his height (which, it occurred to him, might be one reason Lina couldn't use it) and appeared to foster a metallic shine, but in the same regard, it sometimes seemed to absorb light. 

The actual armor plating was mostly black, with occasional traces of blue. The only non black or blue part of the body was the eye slots. Those, slightly hidden under a protruding forehead plate, glowed of deep crimson. From the ears sprouted extensions that were probably housing for communications units, but they looked to almost be small wings. As he moved his eyes down, examining the equipment in further detail, he noted that he could not even see the differentiations between the joints of plating. The metalwork seemed to flow together, making the suit of protection look as if it were always simply one piece of material. 

Tyrion followed the form down the ridges of the chest plate, down the tight lines of the abdomen and then back up the lengths of the arms. The left and right arms both seemed to be equipped with some form of extension that connected to the body on the forearms. While the same color as the rest of the Armour, they looked to be not to have been made as one with it. 

"They're the weapons couplings," Lina said, knowing where he was looking. "The actual Armour didn't have any weapons. Those particular units are called Lightning Claws. They're basically a projection of kinetic energy held in place by a series of arc waves. They'll rip apart anything you get into close combat with. Just use them like you'd use your fists in a fight." 

"Got it," Tyrion said, slowly moving forward and extending his arm to touch the upper right chest plate of the machine. As his fingers contacted the metal skin, he was surprised to find the metal cold to the point where his fingers might freeze simply through contact. It almost felt like it sucked the life out of him. He closed his eyes and waited a moment. In an odd sense, he felt somehow that there was something connecting him to this machine. Something that was telling him that he had seen it at some event before, in another time, in another life. There was something in it that was living and he could feel the rhythm of the machine in the rumblings through his fingers. His own heart started to beat with the lifebeat of Cyoren, and he could feel the metal getting hotter… 

"Woah!" he said, pulling his hand away as the metal had begun to heat up. "What did it do _that_ for?" 

"It got…hot?" Lina asked, not sure if she understood his thoughts. She quickly extended her fingers to find what the commotion was about but found the machine to be icy cold. 

"It's feels pretty cold to me," she said. 

"No way," he said, quickly and bluntly extending his hand and gripping the shoulder pad. It was, as Lina had described, cold as ice. 

"I could have sworn it was hot just a second ago…" he said as he slowly withdrew his hand. "…Weird." 

"Anyway," Lina went on. "Getting into it is easy because you don't actually do anything. They way it works is that we give you with an electronic identification bracelet and that identification becomes the tag that we use to actually 'beam' the suit onto you." 

"How does that work?" he asked, feeling very dumb. 

"To be honest," Lina said, "I'm not quite sure. I think it has to do with deconstructing the suit's molecular strata, turning into electronic code, and then restructuring it. Straight up, I have no real idea how it works." 

Tyrion shrugged. "Well," he said, "I guess ignorance is bliss." He touched the machine again, halfway expecting the heat to have returned, but it was still icy cold. 

"We have to be ready to go not that long from now," Lina said. "The main brief is in just a few hours. Why don't you go back to your room and try to settle in? 

"I think I might do that," Tyrion said, withdrawing his hand from Cyoren for the third time. "I still have to unpack." 

"I'll see you at 1600," Lina said. "Think you're capable of finding your room on your own?" 

"No," Tyrion said. "But I'll give it a try." 

"Good," Lina said. "Then I'll see you then." She spun around and walked away, using that same soldier gait that was the only thing that made her seem like anything but a little girl. It was beginning to piss Tyrion off to all hell. 

. 

While the time Tyrion spent dawdling away in his room was not the most productive thing he had ever done, it had served as a period of trying to compile in his head just what had been going on. It had only been two or three days, he knew, but even just the past few hours seemed like weeks. He knew now that he had been drawn, or suckered (he wasn't quite sure, yet), into this group of mercenaries who, as it would seem, all had their own little hidden agendas that certainly didn't seem to include saving the world from harm. 

Tyrion started up at the plain ceiling from the confines of his stainless steel bed,the sheets still not being made up. The air in the room was already beginning to annoy him. It was stagnant, and almost smelled like a prison cell. He couldn't help but feeling trapped in this windowless little room with oppressive furniture. As he looked at the ceiling, all he could think about was just how helpless he felt in a world that seemed to have all of its own intentions, dragging him along for a joy ride he wasn't even sure he had agreed to. It was a helpless feeling indeed. 

. 

It was only a matter of hours before Tyrion found himself back in the briefing room with Lina looking at him with that same funny look of hers. Along Lina's right side were two other soldiers, a man and a woman. Tyrion hadn't really been introduced to him, and he just as soon assumed that this was merely M-1 custom. The room seemed brighter than before. Maybe more of the lights were on to give a less sinister feeling. The wood of the tables still seemed almost alive, but the lacquered surfaces made it seem like a conference room of any corporation. 

The TV screens on the walls had been covered with black paneling that had slid out of some unknown point. The four agents sat on the outside of the circular table, dividing their stares from the man standing in front of them and the mission dossiers that sat on the tables. In front of them, Kay was talking to the assembly, giving what were basically last minute instructions. He had expected them to read the dossiers, though, so his instructions were brief. He took the time to finish the session up and allow for questions. They would take turns raising their hands, and Kay would call on them, quickly informing them of their apparent ignorance. 

"How do we deal with assessed threats?" one of the soldiers, a tall, broad man with deep set eyes and a crooked nose, asked. 

"We'd like to actually refrain from causing too many casualties," Kay said. "Most of the people working there will be technicians. The base, due to its secure location, and given the situation on the front, should not be too heavily guarded." 

"So aim for military personal only?" the other soldier, this one a woman, nearly as tall as Tyrion with short blonde hair asked. 

"In the ideal," Kay answered. 

"The ideal never happens in the field," Lina felt it proper to point out. 

"The _close_ to ideal," Kay corrected himself. "Aim for the _close_ to ideal." Kay gazed around. "Any other questions?" 

"How difficult will it be to load the virus," the tall man said. 

"That's Lina's responsibility," Kay said. "You don't have to worry about it." 

"That's exactly what I _am_ worried about," the tall man said, jokingly teasing the short statured psychic. Lina narrowed her eyes, but made no retort. 

"The dropship will depart at 1700," Kay said bluntly. "You will make ground-fall at 1735. M-1 has allotted your team of Grey Knights forty five minutes to perform your mission, then be ready to be removed from the area." 

"Will that be enough time?" Tyrion asked. "What if we meet more resistance than originally estimated?" 

"Catching on quick, eh?" Kay looked at Tyrion. The blue haired man shrugged. 

"Just trying to show intelligence." 

"Don't try too hard," Kay said. "Listening to your head, rather than orders, can get you killed. But, if you must know, we'll be monitoring your progress as best we can. If more resistance is met, reinforcements will be delivered as quickly as possible." Tyrion nodded in apparent approval. 

The room was devoid of further questions. Kay gazed around briefly. He placed his hands behind the back and spun around. "You may proceed now to the PR. Prepare to depart by 1700." He turned around again to face them. 

"Dismissed," he said curtly. The four rose and saluted, twirling around in unison and exiting them room. A dry wind almost seemed to blow from the corridor, but that didn't seem to be possibly. Tyrion, forth on line, followed the other three. It wasn't as if he could find his was back to the PR on his own, so he fell into step. No words were exchanged and no sounds were emitted, save for the echoing of their shoes on the cold floor. 

_ Military efficiency_, he though. _If it doesn't drive me insane, at least it'll save me from being killed_. He marched off in following Lina and two people who's names he didn't even know. _What have I gotten myself into? I swear, somebody will feel pain for Rachel's death. Then, this will be worth it_

. 

Location Unknown 

A smell of cleanness beyond clean filled the dimly lit, nicely furnished conference room. Towards the head of a large, mahogany table, a tall man stood with his back facing the rest of the room. He wore a dark coat that stretched to his knees, though that was all that could be seen of his uniform from the vantage point of the rest of the men around the table. They all were dressed in coats of similar style, though the colors differed from man to man. Black berets capped off the heads of some of the men sitting in the chairs. 

The room itself was extremely ornate. The marble walls and pillars were coated with tapestries and paintings depicting scenes of victory in battle. The pillars, made in styles of eras long past, had engravings on each of their bases. There were no windows, and the only source of light was that coming from candles that were placed in the proper locations around the room. 

On the wall which the tall man now faced, a large coat of arms was displayed. It was the picture of a giant bird with spikes protruding from its wings, colored in black, blue, and gold. Perhaps the tall man pondered the image of the crest before him, taking a moment to think about what it symbolized as he considered what he was about to say. Perhaps he was just waiting for the rest of the room to become quiet as he combed his hand through his short, thick, blue hair. 

The men behind him finally quieted down, settling into their black, leather chairs. Slowly, the blue haired man turned around to face them. 

His face was one that seemed to have endured much torture in its existence. His eyes, deep purple, were set far back into his head, his brow protruding slightly from his forehead. His hair was neatly combed, save for two strands which managed to sneak their way down his forehead and over the brim of his left eye. His jaw was tight, and he almost seemed to grind it against his skull as a sign to people that he was angry that he was forced to wait. He swept his black coat behind him, and walked up to the table. 

"We are here," he began. "To discuss the recent activities amongst our little pets in Lyons and Denegrad." His voice was a high tenor, with hints of sophistication and arrogance simply in his first sentence. "Because, as you know, we've had some difficulties dealing with situations with the both of them." 

The man did not sit, but rather began to pace around the table. 

"First order of business will be the one called Tyrion," he said. "As we've come very close to him." 

"With regard to that, Darius," one man said. The man called Darius halted. 

"What?" he snapped. 

"We've…had some activity from the spy which we've been following. Recently, he sent a transmission to an as of yet unknown location. In it, we discovered the plans as to the Air Defense assault." 

"Our test mission for Tyrion," Darius stated. 

"Yes." 

"We don't know where it was going?" 

"No." Darius paused. 

"Well, why in God's name not?" he asked, slightly angered. 

"It was…directed to seemingly nowhere," the man said. "We traced it off to a location somewhere outside of the Celes atmosphere, perhaps to an undiscovered Denegrad Satellite, but the information simply disappeared about 30 seconds after transmission." 

"Who's been working to find out where it went?" Darius said. 

"We've had men on it around the clock since it happened." 

"I detest that cliché," Darius mumbled. He paused. "Regardless, continue with that and report back as soon as possible." He began to pace again. "As expected, then, it would appear that he was a Denegrad spy. The information was probably used to prompt their forces as to the coming attack." 

"As _you_ expected," the other man said. 

"Of course, as I expected," Darius said. "Now we'll actually have a real test for the boy without having to pass it through this goddamned bureaucracy…" 

"He might die." 

"Of course not. He has the blood of the Chosen," Darius said complacently. "As if simple Denegradians could kill him." 

"Then what of his brother?" 

"Teclis?" 

"We're still not close to apprehending them. Our bluff to the En'Kai, while working out as planned, did not yield his capture." 

"And how is it that we're losing battles to these En'Kai if they can't capture a single man?" Darius asked. 

"The Nisai Ryu got involved," the man said. "There was intervention by one of the Grand Masters. He…removed them from the Temple's location and we have yet to find their new place of hiding." 

"Damn those cursed bastards," Darius said. "Them and their silly games…" 

"Also," the man continued. "The En'Kai reported that the Holy Weapon was not there anymore." Darius froze. 

"The Crystain blade…gone?" 

"Yes, sir." Darius's eyes momentarily widened. 

"So Teclis has it…" Darius muddled. 

"Yes, sir." 

"…Damn." Silence filled the room after the last remnants of speech echoed off the marble walls. The air murmured momentarily, then was still. 

"We are, of course, looking for them with all of our forces," a man with a beret said. "Some 125 Armours have been ordered dispatched to aid in the search. We should have him within days." 

"We don't have days, you fool," Darius said, lowering his head. 

"We have as long as we need!" a new voice from the far left corner of the room. Down the stairs that met the entrance, a woman with long blue hair and impressive robes colored in the same black, gold, and blue of the room, came into the room with a flamboyant entrance. The men around the table stood up, and Darius lowered his head. 

"Queen Jara," Darius said "We are happy to see you've made the trip." 

"Don't feed me formalities, Darius," Jara said. "I've traveled to far to eat your shit." The obscenity brought about an eerie silence. 

"As you wish, your Highness," Darius said, bowing curtly. "Perhaps…it is better anyway if we are to get to business and not worry about such piddle." 

"You can't rush proper work," Jara said. "This little of causing of more bloodshed in hopes of more complete battle results is a rush job. His genetic code is useless to us unless he's alive, you flagrant idiot. You can't perform experiments involving Lifestream tests if he's dead." 

"He won't die," Darius retorted. "I can guarantee you that." 

"Based on what evidence?" Jara said. "Man was able to kill Adrekel, the Son of God. Don't think that one of his Avatars would be immune to the powers of Man." 

"I didn't say-" 

"You said enough. You're lucky Geminus doesn't wish your death for this. It is only because He seems confident in Tyrion's abilities as well." 

"With good reason…" Darius mumbled under his breath. 

"Regardless, we'll have to make do with what is done." The two exchanged dark gazes. 

Darius began to pace around again. "Monitor the motion of the Denegrad military over the course of the next forty minutes. We've picked up subtle signs of movement, but perhaps they wish to catch _us_ by surprise. Any indication of En'Kai activity, though, should lead to forcing their actions away from Tyrion and his unit. _Those_ soldiers might be able to kill him." 

"What if this transmission, which you are so sure was directed to Denegrad Intelligence, didn't actually make it there?" Jara asked. "Are we basically operating on the guess that our spy is from Denegrad? Why have we ruled out the Outer Continents so quickly?" 

"Because we're not at war with them, your Majesty," Darius answered. "_That_ is why we have ruled out the Outer Continents. Information in the past has lead us to convincing proof that they are not foolish enough to attempt to intervene." Jara furrowed her brow and gazed again at Darius. 

"Is there anything else?" Jara asked, "that you feel we should do?" 

"No, Highness," Darius said. "That is my only advisory at the time." 

"Hmph," Jara said. "Then I'll be leaving. I have the rest of a war to orchestrate." The Queen spun around, her robes kicking up into the air, and proceeded back towards the stairs which she had entered via. Her shoes tapped against the stone steps, the sound echoing sharply against the marble walls. Those in the room could hear the door open, then close, marking Jara's exit as quickly as it had marked her entrance. There was a brief pause on Darius's part as he waited to make sure that Jara was far gone. 

"This meeting is adjourned," he said, lowering his head. He felt a minor victory, slightly edging out Jara in their brief debate, but something was still missing. There was still something that he yearned for. 

Slowly, the men in the room rose out of their seats and walked towards the door, each taking turn to deliver a nod towards Darius as an exchange of exiting formality. The group, made up over about 16 people, shuffled toward the steps that marked the exit. One by one, they left the room, the echo within the hall diminishing with each passing step. The reverberations slowed down to a hush until there was no one left besides Darius, who stood in silence, his face illuminated by the waning candle light. 

"This country is going to hell," he thought out loud, walking around the table to an alcove on the right wall where there was a hung a picture of a man with a long beard. Darius let out a sigh, waving his hand across the eyes of the man in the picture. There was a slight grinding noise and the wall with the picture on it mechanically slid to the right, revealing a passage. 

The passage was in stark contrast to the room he was in. As opposed to the fancy marble walls with pillars and tapestries, the walls of the passage were pale blue, with stainless steel bars running lengthwise across the walls and ceiling. Small slits in various locations lit the room with an unnatural purple glow. The same amethyst veins of energy ran across the floor. Darius, exhaling softly, entered the passage and the wall closed behind him. 

As Darius walked down the corridor, his step picked up pace until he came to another door. This one, however, slid open as he walked up to it. The second door had opened to reveal a circular room of the same blue and steel walls that made up the passageway. Purple light continued to flow within the walls, and the light veins on the floor split to form concentric circles towards the perimeter of the chamber. At the center of the room was a small, circular platform with three steps leading up to it. It was, for practical sake, the only item in the room. 

The blue haired man walked to this circular platform, climbed its steps and stood in the middle of it. As he closed his eyes, the purple lights in the room began to come alive and energies seemed to flow through them with intensity. The light grew brighter, and as it did, the air in the room began to surge with the same power as the light. From the central pillar, a white line began to trace itself upward, through Darius and towards the ceiling. As it reached the receiving end, the line spread apart to form a circle, and Darius was enveloped in the energy. 

His arms shot out and his head fell back as he opened his mouth and eyes. The air around him seemed to disappear as it was replaced with other-worldly images that did not mesh with this fabric of reality. Something had awakened. The room became very cold as a new presence entered the room. The ethereal existence only made itself known in the form of an image that was represented in one of the patches of shimmering light that wavered complacently in front of Darius. 

The image in the wavering mists of space was one of something that looked human, save for the face that didn't have a nose. Also, its skin was a pale blue representation of the normally beige colored skin of any other human. Though the entirety of its form could not be seen, it could be told that the figure was reasonably tall, though apparently somewhat lanky, almost emaciated. Its hair had been replaced by long blue strains of flesh that ran down its back. 

"We've had problems," Darius told the figure as its form became complete. "And that devil-woman of yours is still getting in my way." 

"The…boy…?" the thing responded, its voice very raspy and old. "…It is…eluding you?" 

"Only with what Jara wants to do in inhibiting my search," Darius said bitterly. 

"She is not…trying to slow…us down," the voice said, pausing to breathe after each few words. "She is just….caught up…in her religion. She is…masked by fabrics…of truth and lies that….you put there." 

"You blame me?" 

"Not you….Darius. Your people. _You_ people." 

"Then the Church?" 

"The Church…is to blame. They are always…to blame." 

"Lord Geminus…" Darius said. "I cannot acquire the boys for you unless I have the complete cooperation of the Vessel. She has been more of an impediment than a benefactor over the recent days." 

"I will…see what I can do," the thing called Geminus responded. "She is a very…strong willed woman. Only so much of my energy can be…occupied…with trying to control her." Some energy was coming back to him. 

"I am just warning you," Darius said. "That the Avatars can be captured alive if I have complete con-" Geminus cut him off in a sudden burst of anger. 

"You do _not_ need to warn me!" Geminus bellowed, new life seeming to come from some point unknown. Angered by the insubordination, the image of the figure reared up as his voice became louder. 

"_I_ am a child of Terra!" Geminus said. "I am a direct descendent of Pyriorias. You do not need to warn _me,_ Darius. I know what is at stake here. Remember...where you come from, after all." Geminus seemed to breath heavily, tired from exerting himself too much. 

Darius was silent. He exhaled a long, slow, breath, lowering his head and closing his eyes. 

"…Very well, Lord Geminus," he said at length. There was a long pause. 

"What other...findings have their been?" Geminus finally said. 

"We…have established the opportunity to test Tyrion's strength in battle. All is going as planned. As for Teclis, as you know, we've momentarily lost his position. Our forces are all devoted to finding him, though." 

"…Very well," Geminus said. The figure closed its eyes. Slowly, the image started to waver until if faded out of view completely. The energies dissipated away from the central column, then the purple light began to fade. The image disappeared and the air became still. 

"Yes…" Darius said, his head still lowered. "Very well, indeed…" 

. 

Location Unknown. 

"You still remember our deal?" a voice told Geminus as he returned his mental state to the location in his cavern. 

"Of course," Geminus said. "Someone does not…forget something like that…so easily." 

"They've discovered it," the voice said. "When will the others see?" 

"When I tell them?" 

"No," the voice said. "You don't tell them. Understand?" 

"…Yes." 

"I have you, Geminus," the voice said. "Never forget that…" 

. 

_"The Avatars, the Vessel and Adrekel. Those were the factors that came together thousands of years ago on Celes to begin to bring about the formation of its current structure. What does bring about the joining of Gods and Devils?" -_The Book of Gar, from the Griever Bible 


	14. Black Wings Arise Again

**Chapter 13**

**Black Wings Arise Again**

Above the Facility… 

The air rushed into the dropship from the opened back hatch. It would have been whipping in the faces of the four people inside if their heads hadn't been completely covered by the helmets of their Armours. Below them, the small image of the facility which they were to knock out lay (it was actually a few miles off to the right because of the allocation for wind drift). The four mercenaries sat in metal seats, two on a side, with a metal harness that locked them into place. 

Tyrion admitted that he was surprised by what an Armour felt like. He had originally envisioned in being large, clumsy and hard to control. Quite to the contrary, it felt almost like nothing more than an additional piece of clothing that functionally moved along with him. The plating of the metal fit directly over the tight jumpsuit which they had made him wear (inwardly, he missed his leather jacket), and the helmet fit his head like a glove, the images of what was going on outside clearly reproduced on a small screen that sat in front of each of his eyes. 

On these screens, everything that he could have ever needed to know was spelled out in the form of heads up displays. He found he could read them without being all that distracted from the normal camera views. These displays gave information regarding procedure for the mission, current systems that were active, systems that the machine _thought_ he should activate, and numerous other interesting tidbits of information. This mission, it would seem, would really be as simple as following the instructions that his machine read out to him. 

Only 30 seconds to drop, now. The bars that held the soldiers into their seats lifted up. The dropship began to reduce its altitude slightly as Tyrion heard something fired from the left side of the ship's hull. Lina had told him this was a radar scrambler that would allow their entry to go relatively unnoticed. 

A few moments later, the other male soldier in their group spoke up. "Here we go, all," he said, their voice echoing into Tyrion's ear through the communications unit. The person who said it then stood up from their seat and walked up to the edge of the gap. In unison, the other three, Tyrion included, climbed up and formed a line toward the hatch. Tyrion, naturally as it seemed, was at the end of the line. 

"Red Team, you are go for drop," the voice of the pilot said over the com system. A battle cry quickly ensued. 

"Let's go, go go!" screamed the first man in line (Tyrion had found out that he was called Brian) as he catapulted himself out of the ship, diving into the air with precision. 

"Go!" another voice said, as the next in line, the female soldier named Shannil, jumped. 

"Go!" Lina's voice yelled as her machine leaped out of the ship. Tyrion, not really knowing what to do, followed Lina, as he had become accustomed to doing. He was a bit hesitant, but simply managed to lean over the edge and fall down, following the others as best he could. Once again, he placed his life in Lina's hands, hoping to God that she would explain what to do in order to not kill himself on impact. 

Again, he thought he imagined the air rushing past his face, event though he knew that it couldn't be possible. The only tangible indication that he was falling was the sound that the air made as it whistled over the smooth joints and plates of his metal casing. He saw the others ahead of him falling faster, using a technique that allows for a quicker free fall. He tried to duplicate it, but found it hard to control himself and tumbled out of it. 

The facility was a 2000 foot fall from the drop point, and they figured that they would be carried about 700 feet to the north as they fell. The image of the building, large enough now for individual windows and doors to be noticeable, was growing. According to the HUD readouts, they would land in about another 45 seconds. 

When the readout made it to about 20 seconds, Tyrion saw the Armours in front of him slow up as the activation of retro burners on the back of the Armours lit the air. 

_ How do I do that??_ Tyrion thought to himself. 

_ Just think about firing the jets_ Lina's voice said in his head. _The Armour will do the rest!_

Tyrion did as instructed, and, to his surprise, the rockets actually ignited. However, to his dismay, he found himself being fired downward rather than upward. 

_ Turn around, you idiot!_ Lina screamed. _Unless you want to kill youself!_

_ I don't, I don't! _Tyrion thought. With all the bodily momentum he could muster, he tried to kick his legs over his head and straighten out. His vertical momentum towards the ground, however, was definitely increasing. 

He contorted as best he could, but the rockets were speeding him up in all the wrong directions. He went into a downward, spiral decent as he struggled to regain his position as it was supposed to be: feet on bottom and head on top. It didn't seem that he would manage to do it, though, as he careened towards the ground. A moment later, he passed the other three soldiers, their descents being slowed by the jets that were activated the right way. 

_Ah, shit!_ Lina's voice screamed in his head. 

"What the hell?" Brian's voice questioned over the intercom. 

_I'm gonna have to save him_ Lina said, swinging herself downward and speeding up towards the falling form of Tyrion. 

Tyrion had managed to turn the jets off in hopes of spinning around without the added thrust, but he couldn't stabilize himself. Part of it was out of shear panic that he was losing control. After all, how often do you smack into the ground falling it over 100 meters per second? 

Tyrion's timer gave him 10 second to impact. Lina was coming down from above, but she would be too slow. The other two were still unsure of what was going on, not having been privy to the brief telepathic conversation. Tyrion was sure as dead. The ground was rushing up to meet him. His speed was still increasing and he was about ready to die. The only thing left for him to was for instinct to kick in… 

Tyrion let loose a scream as massive amounts of energy seemed to instantaneously form around his area. A swirling vortex of black energy shot out in a sphere that engulfed the boy just as he would have otherwise hit the ground. As the energy itself collided with the ground, all the dust in the area was kicked up by the immense winds. As the other three landed around where the energy had collided, their vision was clouded by the dust. 

They were all standing in a small clearing amongst some soft hills that surrounded the compound. There were a few grass patches scattered across ground that was otherwise simply dirt. About 100 yards away was the compound, a large building capped off with a series of radar dishes that extended skyward. 

When the dust cleared, they expected to find a limp Armour sitting in the center of a small crater. The Armour itself would probably be intact simply due to the strength of the material it was made from. The body inside, however, would be crushed to death against the inner wall of the Armour. But, as the dust began to clear, they were surprised to see the form of Cyoren standing upright, apparently no worse for the wear. In fact, Tyrion was in control of it. The others saw the image of the black mecha standing tall, its wearer staring down at his hands, wondering what had just happened. 

"What the…" Shannil's voice murmured as the three walked up to him. 

"Are you…okay?" Brian asked. Tyrion looked up from his hands and slowly nodded his head. 

"Yeah," he said, still in a certain state of shock. "I'm not sure what happened, though. It was just like…well…I'm not really sure." 

"Like a fucking energy storm just rescued you from certain doom?" Shannil asked. 

_That wasn't an energy storm_, Lina said in his head, looking over to him. He couldn't see that she was making somewhat of a scowl behind her mask, but he certainly could guess. 

_ Then what was it?_ Tyrion asked, honestly not knowing the answer. 

_If you survive today, maybe I'll explain. I think I figured _something_ out, though _she said. She looked at the others. 

"Let's get going with the plan," Lina said. "We don't have all that much time." 

"We'll split up into groups of two," Brian said. "Two to drop the virus and two to—" he would have finished his sentence, but was cut dramatically short by the rocketing form of a missile that came screaming his way, detonating as it collided with his head, possibly even taking if off in the process. 

"Fuck!" Lina screamed, turning to look where the missile had come from. "Find cover!" A few hundred yards over the shallow hills that led to the compound, three platoons of soldiers came marching up, heavy weapons platforms at the ready. The M-1 group scrambled to their right, using Armour jets to speed up their travel. Possibly through shear luck, Tyrion managed to do it right, this time. 

Fire began to hail through the sky, mostly in the form of bullets that probably couldn't puncture their Armour. It wasn't the bullets they were worried about. It was the heavy weapons. It was the missile launchers and the probability of laser weaponry. That stuff could eat through most Armour plating pretty quickly. It wasn't very common in Denegrad, but it was become clear to the troop that something wrong had happened here. 

"This should have been a lightly guarded facility!" Shannil shouted as they ran towards a larger rock outcropping. "What the hell happened?!" As she said this, something came streaking through the air towards her. An instant later there was a four foot spike protruding from her midsection. 

"Railguns!" Lina screamed. "Fuck!" Shannil screamed in torment as her body was thrown back five feet from the force of the impact. Lina looked quickly to Shannil and waved her hand upward. Shannil's limp Armour rose into the air and Lina led it with her and Tyrion into the cover. They quickly settled there as Tyrion and Lina tried to prop Shannil up against the rock wall. 

"What….happened?" Shannil murmured, the sound of her voice and breathing indicating her left lung had been torn to shreds by the spike. "This was…supposed to be…easy." 

"I know what happened…" Lina said bitterly, closing her eyes and realizing a very bitter truth. She turned to Tyrion. "They're…testing you. This whole thing really is a test. I'm amazed they got the clearance to send a rookie on a mission like this, but they want battle data." 

"They….want to see me fight?" 

"Yes," Lina answered. Tyrion pondered this for a moment. 

"Wouldn't they have seen it anyway?" he said at length. 

"Maybe they thought it would be inconclusive. Someone wanted more complete data." 

"So Brian was killed?" 

"Yes." 

_ And so Shannil will die?_ He thought. 

_Yes_ Lina answered. 

"They'd sacrifice their own to see what I can do?" 

"Uh-huh." 

"And _what_ kind of family did you say this was?" Tyrion asked Lina, who ignored the question. Tyrion took a deep breath. 

"They want to see what I can do?" he asked himself. "They want to see what a fucking Nisai Ryu can do?" He stood up, and the energy claws on his forearms sprung to life, blue energy pulsating with occasional streaks of lightening. 

"Then fuck them. I'll show them what I can do. They want a show?" He turned to Lina. 

"Cover me," he said coldly. 

. 

Tristan flew through the air as fast as he could. He had been caught off guard by Tyrion's dropship leaving the base; it had left 15 minutes early. Now he was flying very openly, showing a lot of high level energy that would certainly be picked up, all because they changed the time of the mission. Had he been played? It didn't matter now. He probably couldn't catch up with the airship entirely. He should be able to find the group before they got too far into the compound. 

"Why weren't you watching it more closely?" Jack said to him over the communications unit. 

"I was taking a fucking cigarette break, Jack!" Tristan cursed. "It had been hours since I had one, and it was the first chance I had to get somewhere that the smoke would be taking into the ventilation system quickly." 

"You and your damn habits," Jack said. "I certainly hope he isn't killed while you're getting there." 

"He'll be fine. I've seen him fight. He'll instinctively tap the Wings if it comes to that anyway. Could anyone stand against _your_ wings, even before you knew how to use them?" 

"…Point taken," Jack said, realizing that he would have to admit weakness if he were to continue his lecture. 

"You need to chill out," Tristan said, picking up speed as he entered an area where Wind flow was more prevalent, giving him more energy to work with. The cold, dry air would have stung his face if the energy created by Rei Wing didn't form a barrier to protect against it. 

"Chill out?" Jack asked, taken aback. "Tristan, don't let Sarah be right about sending you. I can't have you letting me down now." Jack cut off communications, leaving Tristan to flying about his own business. 

"You got it, boss," he said to himself, half mockingly. "I'll be there in a few…" 

. 

Tyrion didn't wait for the cover fire. He would take them all on himself. Running towards the extreme right flank in a burst of energy, anyone with knowledge of Lifestream would be able to see the incredible powers of the planet that he was gathering into himself. He would take them out down the line, through the flank, drawing the least fire possible at a time. 

The three platoons of soldiers shot at the black Armour as it jetted across the landscape, but it was too fast to hit. The heavy weapons, powerful as they were, had lost their edge when they lost the value of surprise. Tyrion was moving far to quickly to allow them to lock on. The only they saw a blur of meshed blue, black and green energies. 

Tyrion didn't use Lifestream energy that often. He normally preferred fighting using his own abilities. Now seemed a time, though, that he needed the help that he could get. He wasn't sure at this very moment if he was suicidal or not. Truthfully, he wasn't sure what made him rush into this extremely large fray, save it was on an impulse. 

_ Too much death_ he thought. _There's been enough death. THESE people killed Rachel. It was THEM. They killed Brian and Shannil, but they KILLED Rachel. No…there is not enough death. Not yet. There will be soon. It will be after I am done…_

He had almost circled around the flank now, and was pleased to see that some of the rapid-fire weapons that had been trailing him were now ripping up their own ranks by accident as he flanked the force. The swirling green energies of the Lifestream had clouded their vision. 

Tyrion screeched to a halt as he finalized his flanking maneuver. He didn't pause long though as more fire was opened upon him. His energies momentarily flared as he flew towards the nearest soldier with his right fist drawn back. As he smashed forward into the group, he found that his weapon neatly burned through any surface it came into contact with, armor and skin alike. His fist imbedded itself into the screaming face of man closest, the claws gashing through the skin and bone. He was probably dead instantly as the high energy weapon dug through his skull and into his brain, coming cleanly out the other side as a fountain of blood spewed out of the dead man's faceless head. 

_ This might not be so hard, after all_, Tyrion thought. All things considered, the only thing that the overlooking soldiers saw was a blur, accompanied by the blood flowing from the open wound. His movements were too quick to be detected. 

He spun left, swinging through the nearest man. The men that were under attack were unable to bring themselves to level their weapons. The shock was still too great. 

The man fell, Tyrion continued, dashing forward 30 feet and lashing out at anything that got in his way. He tore through the abdomens of ten more men before spinning back around and decapitating the nearest thing to his right. About two seconds had passed since he started his original attack, but he still pressed strong, launching into a flurry of attacks that only ended in more blood being spewed upward and outward as he gutted his victims so quickly that it was hard to discern the order in which they had been killed 

The bullets were coming now, but his Armour was remarkable in indicating where the fire was coming from. He was already moving at roughly the speed of the fire, so altering his movements to let bullets fly by wasn't difficult. As an added bonus, they normally found home in whatever soldier was behind. The closer he came to the center of the first platoon, the few enemies he had to kill on his own. Misdirection and use of enemy fire to assist: classic Nisai Ryu. 

He realized there were way too many to actually take down with his fists. Some sort of auxiliary method would be needed, and Lina apparently still hadn't begun to lay down cover fire. 

Spinning around, he cracked open someone's head with the back of his forearm, continuing to spin with an elaborate arm sequence that served well to cut down all those within reach. He picked up speed as he continued to spin, duck, and slash his way further into the enemy ranks. From the outside, his motions were just flashes of blue light that was being exuded from his claws, accompanied by occasional streams of blood from his disemboweled opponents. 

As the Denegrad soldiers gained some sense and began to widen the space around him, Tyrion soon found himself with no one in direct arm reach. His Armour momentarily beeped to signify new location of his targets, and he extended his arms in a preparation to release some pent up energy. Lifestream energy swirled around him as a vortex of wind began to form. Throwing his arms down, the built up energy blasted outward, throwing back everything in a 50 foot radius. He brought his arms back up and turned to his left. More energy gathered to his fist as he slammed it into the ground. The earth before him cracked open in a line, the soldiers along its path loosing their footing 

He sprinted further into the fight, his Armour continuing to signal oncoming attacks and almost seeming to give him just the right amount of energy required to dodge the attacks. Reaching outward, he grabbed the nearest man by the neck, crushed his larynx and spun around in a circle, using him to knock down some of the surrounding attackers. He released the body and it went flying. 

Finally, though, he began to tire and could feel the energies running thin. The ground forces began to close in faster (or maybe he was just slowing down) and he realized it was time for a last ditch attack to finish off the remains of the troops. He began to gather most of the remaining energy in the area to his whim, green tendrils of power circling around him. 

"Nova!" he screamed as loud as he could, mostly just to aid his focus of energy. The green swirling powers that had gathered around him suddenly froze in position for a moment. Then, the wisps of energy extended to become a bright green wall and the air began to whistle. Cackles of lightning shot off from Cyoren as the mecha glowed a dark blue beneath the flow of Lifestream energy. Red warning lights within the HUDs began to show up. 

Tyrion ignored them. He spread his hands out, touching the green wall of energy that had been formed. The troops surrounding him had ceased their attack, mostly just interested and confused by the barricade of power. Tyrion focused hard. The energy suddenly came out of a static being and shot outward. 

First it gathered in a disc about six inches wide around Tyrion's waist. In another faction of a second, the blasted outward with the force of Lifestream, powerful winds going along with it. The disc spread at an amazing rate, the leading edge of it getting wider. In a blink of an eye, it had encompassed the entirety of the force that had been sent to meet him. 

The first ones that were hit were simply torn in half at the midsection by the cutting edge of the growing disc. The ones that were hit later were completely engulfed as the disc had increased in size. The intense kinetic energy of the blast had vaporized everything that was farther than a few meters away from him, the ground beneath being scorched by the heat and marked by concentric blast circles. 

In the distance, the blast contacted the facility, digging completely through the first floor before it extended to dissipate in the distance. Without a first floor to support it, the facility came down and the weight of the giant dish crushed whatever was beneath it. 

The dust that had been kicked up in the air dissipated and the remains (or lack thereof) of the attack were seen. At the center of the dead bodies and blast marks, Tyrion was still stood with his arms out, clearly breathing heavily. In the distance, Lina slowly let down the psychic shield that she had assembled for herself, the dull blue hum reducing to nothing. 

"What was…that?" she asked herself aloud. Tyrion didn't respond. In the middle of the circle of death, his form crumbled to its knees, arms limp at the side. Something moved in the distance… 

"I was right?" she asked herself again, pulling off her helmet to see if her visual sensors were just playing tricks on her. "Was I…right?" Her muscles ached a little, the force of the spell having passed through the shield in its pressure, anyway. Her arms and shoulders felt like they were going to fall off, and her head was strained. The effect of the spell had been so powerful that she had used up far too much mental energy to protect against it. 

She closed her eyes for a second, not seeing the three men cloaked in black sweep from behind and knock her out, a mere three seconds after she had removed her helmet.. They then collected an unconscious Tyrion a few moments later, taking the two lifeless bodies away. 

. 

By the time Tristan arrived, it was too late. The facility had been felled and the ground was completely littered with dead bodies. There was no sign of either Tyrion or Lina, which means there was no sign of the Armour which Tyrion was supposed to extract the battle data from. 

"Ah, shit…" Tristan said. "Jack's gonna have my ass." 

He surveyed the damage. He couldn't even begin to count the number of dead bodies. The magical residue of Lifestream still hung in the air, making it damp. 

"Tyrion did all this…on his own?" Tristan wondered. He whipped out a small sensory device and held it up to the area. The screen blipped signifying a definite Chaos signature throughout the battlefield. This had been Tyrion's handiwork, certainly. Easily over 200 men were dead. He created a link up to the Weatherlight. 

"What's the report, Tristan?" Jack said over the communications link. 

"By Iluvitar's name, this is intense," Tristan said. "He must already rival the power of many Adeptus. That, and this shows signs of much growth since we fought in his home. His power is probably already starting to increase exponentially, just as yours did after you first manifested the Wings. Plus, the Chaos readings are off the charts. He was probably using the Wings here, too." 

"No sign of him?" Jack asked. 

"None. I can't believe he cleared them out this quickly." 

"You realize it's your fault that we lost him?" Tristan grumbled. 

"Yes." 

"Just fix it, okay?" Jack said, surprisingly contained in anger. 

"After this much energy use, he might have passed out. I wouldn't be surprised if someone else was monitoring him and took him." 

"Any leads?" 

"It'd be someone that was watching the actions of M-1. If I had to bet, I'd say those that are called the Saidiar are probably after him, and they're the only ones that haven't reared their heads that I know of." 

"Can you track them?" 

"Of course." 

"Then do it," Jack said. "Report to me in two hours with your progress. In the mean time, I may have some negotiations to attend to…" 

"Right. I'll speak with you then," Tristan said. "This is Tenser, over and out." He shut down the communications link and began to glance around. "Now, all I need is a lead." He sighed, then began to fly slowly over the field. "Come on, Tristan Tenser the Great, you can do this…" 

. 

_ "I knew Tristan would blow it at some point. True, he made up for his mistakes in the end, but it's funny that stupid things such as a cigarette break can potentially throw off a search that had taken two year up until that point. Then again, if we had worked that long, a little longer wouldn't have hurt, anyway" –Sarah Inverse McKlane, when asked about Tristan Tenser_


End file.
